Sherlock's Pet
by FutileRes
Summary: John wanted to get Sherlock a special present to help him deal with his social interaction issues. Mrs Hudson is stern but helpful, Mycroft agrees with John and uses his influence. Sherlock is intrigued... This is the story of how Molly became a slave to Sherlock's whims... literally. Alternate Universe. Rating M for mature themes and lots of swearing in one particular para
1. Chapter 1

**Sherlock's Pet**

"John darling what a wonderful idea_"_enthused Mrs Hudson, "Of course you can use 221C, all the equipment is there from my own training days" she sighed a little, a reminiscent smile on her lips.

"I always loved starting a new project, the initial selection of the little darling, the time spent getting to know them, learning all their little foibles, working out the best method of training, getting them to trust you and then the first time they beg for affection, knowing from that point on they are yours_"_

There was a gleam in her kind eyes which made John Watson smile with appreciation. She must have been formidable in her prime. Come to think of it, she still was.

She shook off the memories "Too old to now " she said briskly, losing the trace of wistful nostalgia and smiled at her handsome boy standing in front of her with that naughty grin on his face.

"I had to give my last pet to Mrs Turners married ones, I couldn't give him the care and attention he needed and I didn't want to have to send him to the disposal centre, where if they can't find a home for them in six months, they have them put down. It's outrageous, bloody government cuts, all those beautiful trained Pets who could give someone so much love and pleasure and they won't pay for the time to find the right owner"

She remarked angrily, then shrugged apologetically at the ex-soldier standing in front of her for getting on her soapbox and returned to the subject with a slight smile

"But I still get to play with him sometimes when the married ones are away and bless him the little darling still remembers his Mistress and he always begs for attention so beautifully"

Her smile was fond, then her interest was peaked by John's next comment

"Well Mrs H, I was hoping you'd give me, or rather us some advice, obviously this is for Sherlock, you know how bored he gets when he's not got any cases, but also thought it would help him. Pets can be such good outlets for frustrations and emotions, especially if you have a problem dealing with that sort of thing anyway."

She nodded her head with excitement, what a lovely treat from her boys. To be able to give them the benefit of her knowledge without having to do all the hard work. What fun!

She patted John's cheek in acceptance and then asked him for all the details as she bustled into the kitchen to make them some tea.

"Of course he knows nothing about it" the good Dr smirked as he sipped at his mug and took a biscuit

"Mycroft and I discussed it and we decided against one from the breeding centres, too tame for Sherlock. He needs to train a wild one, so Mycroft convened a private hunt for tomorrow night; he said he could offset the cost by selling the ones that Sherlock had no interest in".

Mrs Hudson's eyes widened with shock

"Are you sure that's a good idea, John, you know the pedigree and history from the breeding centres and they can provide any type you need, a wild hunt, well you could end up with anything"

"That's the point Mrs H, it has to gain his interest, he wouldn't accept one from the breeding farms, too predictable, and a wild one will present him with a challenge"

John contradicted her calmly, he had given this a lot of thought and discussed it with Mycroft who actually agreed with him for once.

Suddenly there was a stern expression on her face and John caught a glimpse of the Martha Hudson who had been a professional pet trainer and won awards for her work and innovative methods. Unconsciously he sat up straighter, feeling like he was back in front of his commanding officer for a ticking off.

"In that case young man I will definitely be overseeing your little project and I will be reminding Sherlock of his responsibilities as a trainer, in case he becomes over enthusiastic. I have my reputation to maintain and this is my house. If the first pet he ever trains is going to be a wild one, then you and he will be taking my advice or I will ensure that the Pet is taken away, do I make myself clear"

* * *

Sherlock was abroad on a case, he had nearly refused to go, declaring it a mere 6 on his personal scale of interest, but luckily for John, the addition of a few unexpected body parts and the theft of the last three remaining Vatican cameos had elevated it to 9, so he had enthusiastically left his lover to his own devices when John had refused to abandon his voluntary shifts at the Homeless centre. It also gave him the perfect excuse to make sure everything was ready for Sherlock's return.

Mycroft had arranged the renovation of 221C to bring it up to current training standards, Mrs Hudson had been intrigued when the surveillance cameras were installed, she had used baby monitors in her day, but John was pleased because the feeds in 221B would allow Sherlock to view the pet at any time. Perfect lab conditions, and one of the ways he was hoping to get Sherlock on board with the project.

John had been concerned about his partner's growing disinclination to deal with anything remotely resembling social interaction, other than John and his work. Sometimes he even forgot to speak to his darling Mrs Hudson, and the relationship between Sherlock and Mycroft was indefinable and unique. So John had decided to do something about it.

He had got the idea after spending a rare evening out with Sherlock at one of Mycroft's formal events at the Diogenes club. He had seen the spark of curiosity in Sherlock's eyes as he listened to Mycroft expound to an European Ambassador about the wild hunts they had revived as a sop to the public after the cost of the breeder farms became prohibitively high and there had been a summer of riots and strikes because of it.

The 'Wild Hunt' had caught the public imagination as the very clever and now very rich PR man who had come up the idea had known and were now even televised if the hunts were public.  
Places on the public hunts were free and allocated through an application process, and should one of the less wealthy participants win the hunt, and the Government made sure that the hunt was won often enough despite the lack of experience of the participants because they did not want a repeat of the summer of rioting and strikes, then they were given government funding for the adequate training and care of the pet.

Of course should the pet's treatment be unacceptable then the pet was removed to either a rehabilitation centre and passed on to a more careful and considerate owner or mercifully put to sleep. Some of the wild ones never accepted captivity.

Then there were the private licensed hunts, for the very wealthy or very well connected, who used the expensive and specially trained hunt teams to capture a rare wild pet, usually one they had specified in detail.

Mycroft was very, very, very rich and very, very, very well connected, in fact he was the connection other people used if they wanted to appear well connected, his hunt teams were military specialists and he always got what he wanted.

So John was going to get a wild pet for Sherlock to train and to care for. He knew his lover had a deep well of emotion he tried to smother; he knew that Sherlock was only comfortable emotionally with him and sometimes Mrs Hudson, but training and caring for a totally dependent affectionate Pet whose entire focus was its master would allow Sherlock a most needed release for those suppressed overwhelming emotions.

He was a little jealous when he thought about it, he'd always thought he would love a pet of his own one day but Sherlock needed a pet even though he didn't want one.

The day of the wild hunt dawned and Sherlock had arrived back from his travels the night before. He could see that John was excited about something. For a few moments he actually accepted it as his right because he was home, but then he noticed the looks of anticipation that his John kept giving his watch, the conspiratorial secret smiles when they came across Mrs Hudson, the excited little shakes which John gave when he thought Sherlock wasn't looking.

Finally Sherlock sighed with amusement "My dear John what are you up to?" he asked with a laugh, "You are behaving like a little boy waiting for Christmas morning"

John grinned at him and teased in a little boy voice "Not telling", Sherlock's eyes widened with surprise and then predatory glee "Is that a fact?" he breathed as he stalked towards his laughing nervous lover. He loomed over the shorter man as he pinned him to the fridge.

John sighed against Sherlock's mouth and raised his arms around his neck; he proceeded to nibble on the beautiful surprisingly full lips above him, and they ground their hips against each others, feeling their respective hardening as he licked the bottom lip, and thrust his tongue in and out in a familiar motion into the delicious wet, hot silky mouth.

The politely disparaging cough behind them made John start to pull away, but Sherlock wouldn't let him go, his hands were tugging on buttons to get to smooth tanned skin, only stopping kissing John for the three seconds it took to tell his brother to bugger off and leave them alone.

He could feel John laugh against his mouth and heard the satisfied smirk underneath the obvious bored annoyance in Mycroft's reply as Mycroft surprisingly switched on the television.

"You will want to watch this brother dear"

As Sherlock began to sigh with obvious irritation, he felt John's lips pull away from his own, and his lover remark huskily, in that voice which normally sent spirals of hot and urgent desire crawling through his blood stream, dipping through his stomach like a roller coaster and making a beeline down to the end pulsing like sparking electricity through his interested cock. It distracted him for a full second wondering how quickly he could get rid of his brother and his landlady in order to get John on the floor, beneath him whilst he ravaged his way across that delectable body..

"Mycroft's right Sherlock, you will want to watch this." and John's hand's pushed him away to turn to face the screen and his brother. He was surprised when Mrs Hudson also chimed in and told him to watch, he flicked his gaze across all three faces, John's smugly nervous, Mycroft's amused and Mrs Hudson stern but with an air of excitement. He frowned and turned to face the screen. It wasn't a normal television programme; it was receiving live feeds from surveillance and tracking cameras. The screen itself was split into four sections, each covering a different area. The first looked to be an underground subway station, the second a high rise inner city estate, the third a large public park and the fourth a cemetery.

Sherlock's frown deepened but no-one saw fit to inform him of what he was looking at; they all looked at him expectantly. Then he saw them,he understood what he was looking at, there in each section the familiar black uniform of the hunters, closing in on a target. He drew a sharp breath, a different excitement fizzing through his body and his brain; it was a hunt, a wild hunt.

He turned to look at John who smiled wickedly and nodded at him, Mycroft interrupted the heated gazes between his little brother and lover,

"This is John's gift to you Sherlock. You will have first choice from this evening's hunts brother. Four are showing on the screen currently, but there are twelve scheduled for tonight, so if you are not happy with this first four, then there are another eight you may choose from. If you can't find anything suitable tonight then I have promised John that you will have first choice of all the Government sponsored hunts until you make your selection."

"You are giving me a wild pet" Sherlock muttered in surprise with a tinge of awe, then tried to make up for his almost childlike reaction, but John saw straight through it, and even Mrs Hudson laughed this time. Though she said firmly,

"You have to choose wisely Sherlock, the wild ones can be so challenging".

Sherlock moved over to her and hugged her, then turned his attention back to the screen.

John came and stood beside him, "We thought you might prefer a male" as he gestured towards the video feeds. Sherlock nodded in absent agreement as he observed what was happening on the screen. He heard Mrs Hudson's low voiced almost absent comment about female wild ones being worse than males to train and stored it away in the back of his mind whilst he focused on the hunts happening in front of him.

* * *

Molly Hooper closed and locked the door to her flat behind her with shaking hands. She was dripping on her hallway carpet, threadbare though it was, for God's sake, but she didn't think she could take another step.  
She couldn't take in enough air to calm her shudders down, she was crying with fear and relief, her mouth was so arid, she could go back and drink the river dry, the one she had leapt into to get away from the hunters.

Sweet merciful God, she had got away from the hunters, how in the name of all that was holy had she done that?They were professionals, they were dangerous and she was a timid mousy short poor orphaned med student who's only regular exercise was running for the bus in the morning because she was always late.

She drew a deep breath and took off her dripping winter woollen coat. She'd didn't know if she would be able to wash it and get it back into some respectable shape, she didn't have another one and it was too cold now to try to just go out with a couple of jumpers on.

She studied it in dismay, bastards, utter, utter bastards she had only just managed to save enough from her part time job to buy it from the charity shop, and they had let her pay weekly, it was the first decent winter coat she'd had since her Dad had died, it was way too big for her but it bloody kept her warm, and now because of those uniformed bastards it was ruined.

River water, mud, and silt did not have a positive impact on an old woollen coat. She knew she was rambling, she knew it but she couldn't think yet, she couldn't deal with what had just happened, and so very nearly what could have happened to her if she had been caught, so she would keep on rambling thank you very much until her scared little brain calmed down,

Her knees gave way on her and she collapsed against the hall wall, her head in her trembling hands. Raging thirst finally forced her to move from that position and she slid up the wall to her feet. Her head was still pounding like a drum. She went into the tiny kitchen, took a clean glass from the draining board and filled it with cold tap water. The feeling of the water slipping down her burning throat calmed her, and she filled it again after she had gulped the first glass down.

Her brain suddenly focused. Bastards, they hadn't announced the hunt like they were supposed to. They had even tried to take her in the graveyard, when she was putting flowers on her Dad's grave, churches and religious sites were places of sanctuary, off limits to the hunt, it was in their own well publicised rules and the bastards had still tried to take her down there

She was going to fucking report them... Who the fuck could she report them to…..They were the fucking Government. A sob left her throat. She could feel the fear crawling over her skin like a living entity and she couldn't believe that she was safe. Of course she was safe, they couldn't take her now, she was on her home territory, and no fucking way was she leaving the flat for the next week, fuck college, fuck her part-time job, she was staying tucked up in her grotty little flat out of the way of the fucking men in black and their evil fucking hunts.

Bloody hell she must be rattled, she had just used the F word more in the last sixty seconds than in the previous two years, she gave a startled giggle which quickly turned to helpless sobs again. Slowly she managed to get herself under control.

Her shoulders slumped and finally the adrenaline buzzing through her body was beginning to ebb. She knew she would be crashing very soon and then sleeping for ages. But first she needed to see the news, if they had announced the hunt properly it would be all over the TV like a rash, and if they hadn't then... then her fear gauge was going to rack straight back up to critical if not overload, because she didn't know what to do, and what it meant.

She didn't bother putting the light on in the living room, just headed straight towards the scabby little plastic coffee table which held the remote control. As she pressed the button for her pathetic little television to power up, the main overhead light came on, almost blinding her and she winced in surprise, the brightness momentarily hurting her eyes.

She turned around confused and her eyes widened with horror as she saw a stocky blonde haired man wearing the black uniform of a hunter smiling at her from the entrance, one hand on the light switch.

"Hello sweetheart, now don't you worry your pretty head anymore, you must be so tired after your little adventure, let me help you"

His voice was soothing and so calm and for a second for one insane second, she almost swayed towards him for comfort as, to her confused brain, he had exactly the same intonation as the hospital consultant who had told her father that there was nothing further they could do for him and that he needed to put his affaires in order.

Her eyes grew impossible wide. "No" her voice was a terrified disbelieving whisper,

"You're not allowed to be here, this is my home, you can't come into my home",

The man's sympathetic smile grew and she backed away from him, looking desperately at the window trying to judge how quickly she could get to it before he got to her. Then she was clamped against a hard chest and two hard hands gripped her arms. She couldn't move. There were two of them, oh god she was trapped. She was caught, the hunters were in her house and were restraining her.

Well if she couldn't damage him physically, at least if he held her long enough, he would get soaked through too and maybe catch a cold , she thought with burgeoning hysteria.

A deep baritone voice spoke close her ear.

"That's enough running now, you have been very clever to escape them little one, so clever in fact that you had to be the one, you are just perfect for me. There really was no other choice after I saw your performance. I thought my new pet would be a boy but even in that you challenge and surprise me. You were so, so fascinating little one, so small and so determined even in your fear and you outwitted the trained professionals."

There was an almost proud tone to the cold velvet voice "You are mine now, my pet" and the possessive growl in that voice horrified her and caused her to renew her struggles against his grip and kick at him. The satisfaction she felt when she heard him grunt with pain was immediately tempered by bone deep fear when she could feel the anticipatory smile in the velvet voice

"I can see obedience will be a high priority on your training schedule"

She opened her mouth to scream and scream and scream but suddenly the blonde haired man was in front of her, his dark blue eyes sternly kind. One square blunt calloused hand stroked the side of her face and said calmly

"Enough now sweetheart, enough fighting, enough fear, you need to rest before you collapse"

And then there was a sting at her neck and she could feel the darkness begin to take her, slumping helplessly against the tall lithe body which held her securely, as she heard the velvet voice congratulate "John" on his wonderfully intriguing gift which was definitely a 10, and she felt a hand stroke through her hair as he drawled with chilling joy

"Oh the experiments I can perform with you my lovely little wild pet"

* * *

AN:

First fic. Hope you like. Would love to have your comments and reviews. Do you think it has potential as a longer story?


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2.

Greg Lestrade hated runners, hated them with a passion. There was no time to prepare, no time to organise a response, no time to get things ready and the runner was normally in such a state they couldn't even respond to simple commands, which meant more often than not the fleeing Pet was damaged sometimes severely or even in the end put out of its misery.

It was a waste of his time. He could, should be working on something a damn sight more important but no, the higher-ups didn't like runners either. Only their reasons were more to do with public relations and ensuring there were no awkward questions in Parliament about the care and safety of Pets, or from the lunatic fringe of the abolitionists. Some of those mad bastards had even been gaining airtime recently. Doing more harm than good in his humble opinion. Just gave the general public a target for their abuse and re-enforced their belief in their god-given inalienable right to capture, train and own a Pet. After all, the world knew that the British were Pet mad. Even though really it was a European tradition, unless you counted those insane buggers the Belgians and oddly the Portuguese who had both outlawed the owning of Pets years ago and had got into a pissing match with the rest of Europe over it.

The rest of Europe had retaliated by boycotting trade and travel for many years after the abolition. Now trade had picked up again, the countries were classed as pitiful oddities but they were getting more and more tourists who were curious about countries which such exotic beliefs that they had no Pets.

Here it was a legal right even if most of the public watching wouldn't have had the houseroom, money, time or patience to keep a Pet.  
He had got the call for this one whilst they were waiting to take down a notorious gang of extortionists operating in the West End. Stupid bastards had taken on more than they could chew when they tried to frighten that big theatrical Impresario.  
That man took risks all the time with his money and his ego wasn't about to let some common criminals skim from his hard earned profits, so he had given an award winning performance to the leader of the gang, agreed with all of their demands, then summoned the Mayor of London to tea and demanded that he get it sorted or he would take all his highly successful shows out of the West End, go to Broadway and make sure that no more of his insanely successful shows were produced in London.

The effect of the loss of theatre revenue on London was the stuff of nightmares for city officials and the powerful Mayor had acquiesced with all the alacrity of a fully trained Pet and Lestrade's division had been called in.

The police operation had been in the planning stages for six months and now he was expected to ditch that and leave it to his subordinates so that he could apprehend a pathetic escaped Pet from some rich and influential tosser's collection.

Only the best Detective Inspector on the force was capable of dealing with such an important matter, or at least that's what his new Chief Inspector saw fit to tell him every time he complained about being pulled from something important for something so fucking trivial. Northern wanker just wanted to lick the arses of the likes of Mycroft "minor position in the government" Holmes.

Which is why he was down by the commercial docks tonight as co-ordinating liaison for the New Scotland Yard, when he should have been leading his team on the West end sting. Instead he was near the riverside abandoned warehouses, with a team of the useless no-hopers who worked the Government Pet Retrieval Squad more commonly called the PRS on the look out for another escaped pathetic little creature.

As he left his car, and walked with no particular urgency to the so called PRS 'command centre' he overheard one of the losers say excitedly to his partner that this one was from the Holmes household itself, one of Mycroft's extensive collection.

Well, well, well so that's why he had received the call. Only the best for Mr Mycroft Holmes! The Chief Inspector would know that Mr Holmes himself wanted him on the search for his runner, and Lestrade's "spidey senses" lit up his warning radar like a six foot beacon on bonfire night.

"Everything by the book tonight lads" he growled at the squad, "Don't give me any cock-ups and you won't find my boot up your arse". They murmured nervously in agreement.

"Well come on you know the drill", he prompted with irritation, and the Sergeant in charge, arrogant idiot by the name of Anderson, dark haired, pale and gormless looking but with the instinctive self preservation of a back stabbing, traitorous coward, ran through the plan one more time to ensure that they all understood their roles.

They began to check their guns and handcuffs. Lestrade despaired, he really did, what useless twat thought it was a good idea to give these morons fucking firearms, if this lot weren't in PRS uniform, he'd have had them nicked for being Neanderthals and not having the capacity to put one foot in front of the other in civilised society. In fact he was sure those attributes were a pre-requisite for joining the PRS.

Lestrade called out firmly "Tazers only tonight, and the padded restraints. There better not be even a bruise on this one. I doubt the owner will be too happy with us if it is damaged or dead. No rough stuff, no slaps or walking into walls, nothing inappropriate, or I will give your names to Mr Holmes for your just rewards, do I make myself clear?"

There were startled looks at his determined features but they nodded obediently, if the DI was worried about this retrieval then they were going to be on their best behaviour.

They spread out in the standard retrieval pattern, head sets on, weapons in hand, cuffs on their belts, always in pairs, except for Lestrade, he always insisted that he worked alone as he was directing the squads and not in the front line.

The capture was remarkably easy; the runner was quickly found, cuffed and brought back to the PRS security van. Lestrade frowned and his brain was working overtime to run through all the likely scenarios. This just hit all his buttons. He was too old and too ugly for this shit. Logically it could only be a sting operation, but who was the focus of the operation? The PRS or DI Gregory Lestrade? He'd bet his last penny that this was somehow designed to trap him, what worried him was that he didn't know what for. Best work with the worst case scenario then, and everything was going to be done by the book.

A PRS medic gave the runner a once over to make sure it was okay for Lestrade to interview, before it would be released back into the custody of its owner for whatever punishment was deemed appropriate. As the Medic was about to walk away, Lestrade had a flash of intuition, he stopped him and asked about evidence of training marks. The Medic had looked at him confused for a second, and then shook his head with dawning puzzlement as he confirmed that there weren't any on her. Lestrade thanked him and sent him on his way.

Lestrade climbed into the back of the holding van, sat on the bench opposite to the kneeling figure and stared impassively; all the while his brain was processing what he was seeing, looking for patterns, threads, and clues to the reason behind this little piece of theatre.

The runner was female, long auburn hair hiding her face as she stared at the restraints holding her hands together. One ankle was chained to the holding ring on the floor of the van. She was still wearing her house uniform, so, so convenient for identification. His eyes narrowed. Her finger and toe nails were bare, perfectly manicured, she can't have been running long or her feet would have been in tattered bloody ribbons.

Normally the tracker device was implanted somewhere unobtrusive, inside the elbow, at the top of the thigh. Oddly the medic didn't mention it in his report, and the Holmes estate hadn't seen fit to provide the PRS with the frequency. So logically no tracker device on her person. A valuable pet like this not having a tracker, he didn't think so. He was dealing with a bunch of frigging amateurs, or they thought they were dealing with a frigging amateur. He could use that, he really could, he loved to be underestimated.

Lestrade waited patiently, for any kind of reaction from this particular runner. If she was an ordinary runner, by now they were normally sobbing in terror at the thought of the reception they would receive from their angry masters, by now they were normally begging for mercy, begging for sanctuary, or even begging to be put down, but not this perfect little specimen. She was unbelievably composed and unmarked for a runner.

Maybe he needed to shake things up a little, to find out what fucking mind games Mycroft Holmes was playing with him. Oh he knew damn well this was some sort of set up, not even a very good one, which surprised Lestrade because he knew how ruthlessly efficient Mr Holmes could be.

He deliberately reached across the runner and took down the thin short bamboo cane from the well appointed tool rack.

He could feel her eyes on him, underneath that glorious fall of hair, and saw the full body flinch as she heard the whistle and snap of the cane as he suddenly used his strength to switch it viciously through the air.

"You do know that the PRS are entitled to use all reasonable force in the apprehension and interrogation of an illegal runner" he asked calmly his voice so cold and deep, he could see the instinctive shudder that went through her. He smiled grimly; his voice had always been one of his best weapons in an interrogation. Then when the meaning of his words became clear, he saw how the unusually relaxed runner's body began to tense, and inwardly smirked.

He stroked the cane across her bare left foot, the one that was caught immobile by the ankle cuff and chain and she flung herself backwards to the van wall, finally looking up at him with a real reaction, fear and uncertainty. He could hear the way her breath quickened. Dear God she was exquisite, there was no way that this "Pet"would have been mistreated enough to want to run or even left alone enough to find the opportunity.

He saw her dark eyes widen as she looked at him, and the instinctive swallow, and he made his smile vicious. Play me for a mug would you missy he thought vengefully, well lets see how quickly Mycroft Holmes comes to your rescue, when we do this exactly by the book.

"Name of your Master or Mistress" he asked in a bored tone, she didn't answer quickly enough and the cane swished through the air and landed on the sole of her bare foot.

He didn't put any real force into it but it would definitely have stung, and he heard her shocked disbelieving cry of pain. Trained pet my arse, he thought with amusement.

"If I have to ask you twice, you will receive two extra stripes from the cane" he continued in a bored tone of voice.

"Mycroft Holmes, Mycroft Holmes is my master, sir" she spoke quickly, her cultured voice husky with fear and pain.

Before he could ask his next question, the van door was opened and Mycroft Holmes himself stood there, immaculately elegant in his grey three piece suit. Greg saw the relieved look the "runner" gave him before she dropped her head again. Greg's lips twitched with bitter amusement. So Mr Holmes didn't want his little pet hurt?

Before Holmes could say a word, Lestrade spoke calmly, his tone professionally indifferent

"I know you are eager for the return of your Pet sir, but you must understand that there is a due process to follow before I can allow her back into your custody. The interrogation must continue until I am satisfied that she wasn't assisted in any way in this illegal escape attempt. If there is any possibility of collusion, I have to know in order to nip this seditious activity in the bud and prosecute the criminals. Please return to your vehicle and I will have the Pet delivered to you once I am finished".

Lestrade pretended not to notice either, the panicked pleading glance the pet shot at her master, or the irritation and frustration which crossed Mycroft Holmes' usually bland countenance.

He had to fight the urge to smirk. Although the fear induced adrenaline was rushing round his body, he was actually enjoying the thought that he had spoilt Mycroft Holmes's little game. Lestrade gently closed the van door in his face and turned his attention back to the runner who was looking at him with absolute shock.

There was a sharp rap on the door and it was opened again, Mycroft was seething with rage and Lestrade wondered if he had gone too far, but then decided keeping Mycroft Holmes off balance and not thinking properly was a damn good tactic.

Greg sighed with blatant impatience but before he could speak to again, Mycroft spoke quickly "There seems to have been a mistake Detective Inspector Lestrade, this isn't a matter for the PRS after all" the frustration in his tone evident

Lestrade raised one eyebrow and offered mildly "An illegal runner is not a matter for the PRS Mr Holmes?" and loved the fact that Mycroft flushed with embarrassment at having to explain to him.

Holmes was suddenly the cool calm collected urbane politician and he focused his attention on the policeman. Lestrade refused to let it intimidate him, or distract him; he kept his thoughts on the matter at hand. He had built his career on being smart enough to be trusted and to get things done but not interesting enough to come to the attention of anyone truly dangerous. So why was the most dangerous man in the British Government now fucking focused on him?

"This has been a little experiment, a check if you will into the efficiency of the PRS" Mycroft began smoothly and Lestrade could have kicked himself when he reacted angrily to the piece of bullshit and interrupted him

"Do you mean to tell me that I was pulled out of a major operation for a fu.. for a test" he had thought it was something along those lines and he was surprised at how incensed he was when he heard it put into words by the arrogant aristocratic dickhead in front of him.

Lestrade inwardly winced as those incredible blue eyes sharpened at his words and repeated "Zip it Greg" like a mantra inside his head.

"That's only part of the objective Detective Inspector" Mycroft soothed smoothly "Now if you would be kind enough to release my employee, who's performance was less than satisfactory" he turned his head to glare at the flinching woman chained to the wall, then continued as if there was no interruption "and if you can spare me some of your valuable time, I have a proposition for you" and he gazed unblinking at Lestrade until Greg nodded slightly.

Then he gave a satisfied smile which raised Lestrade's anxiety levels to new heights "Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit" his internal mantra changed and became stuck in a loop.

Twenty minutes later, Lestrade slid into the enormous black saloon holding Mycroft Holmes and his umbrella and prayed to any deity that would listen, that he would actually get out of this beast of a car alive...

The little episode with Mycroft Holmes had unsettled him. He wasn't a particularly ambitious man, he worked hard at his job and he was damn good at it, but he didn't want to advance much further because then it wasn't police work anymore, it was fucking politics and he was a copper through to his marrow bone.  
He didn't want to have to sooth some tosser's ego so that he could get the budget he needed to run a department, no he was best at making a difference and putting the scumbags away. It was an old fashioned concept but he actually believed in justice and serving not only the people that paid his wages but all those vulnerable and downtrodden souls who had no-one else to look after them or make sure that they received justice and that's what he wanted to do. That's the only thing he had truly ever wanted to do. Probably the true reason for his failed marriage, beside the undisputed fact that she was an adulterous slut.

Now for some reason he had come to the attention of the most dangerous man in the British Government and he knew what it meant, he knew he had now become part of the Holmes spider web and his life wasn't going to be his own any more. He was already sweeping his flat for bugs and cameras and had found them, they would have to remain but at least he knew they were there, he was now walking the Holmes tightrope and he had better keep his balance.

But there was a deeply buried streak of rebelliousness in Greg Lestrade, he had had his "bad boy" stage when he was much younger and had happily given it up when he had met his wife because having a family meant more to him, he loved his job most of the time and even when he and his wife had divorced he had tried to concentrate on the bigger picture and not lose himself in his old ways, although now and again he cut lose which released the stress and pressure of work, so that he could focus again on what was important.

Now his anger at the whole situation had triggered that rebellious streak. He knew it was dangerous, he knew it was stupid, but he also knew it was necessary or he would soon commit some greater error which would blow his whole world apart, which was why had he accepted young Ian Dimmock's offer of a spare bed after he and his police team had spent the evening in the pub celebrating a successful raid.  
It was his perfect alibi and there were no cameras or bugs in Dimmock's place, he checked every time he went, and he made sure he popped by frequently, as a side benefit Emma Dimmock was a really good cook. He even kept an overnight bag there which they all laughed about.

So three hours later Greg was walking down by the river, his soft soled black shoes kept his steps silent, and he blended in with the shadows as he was dressed totally in black, including the black hoody, which he had pulled up over his head to make sure his distinctive silver hair was covered and not visible in the darkness. He wasn't in bad shape for a man his age. He made sure he kept fit enough to do his job properly, and be able to indulge his rebel nature when he needed to.

He had been doing this so long, dear god it must be twenty years now, he knew the best places, the best times and he knew where the street cameras were active and where they weren't. In the silence of the dark early hours of the morning, he kept his senses focused on the area around him. It was a dead end, perfect for his purposes.

He had his earpiece in and was listening to the excited chatter on the radio. They were headed in his direction. He smiled fiercely with anticipation as the adrenaline pumped through his body. He leant back against the wall, immersed in the shadows, invisible to the runner and the PRS goon behind him.

He heard the despairing whimper of the little runner when he realised that he was trapped in a dead end and the gloating snigger of the PRS officer behind him. He heard the crack of the bull whip as the PRS officer snarled,

"Nowhere left to run you little bastard, I'm going to teach you a lesson for making me chase you, and for daring to leave your master in the first place. Then its play time"

The young runner screamed in pain and sobbed hysterically, and the PRS man laughed again. Lestrade knew that laugh, it was that arsewipe trigger-happy sadistic moron Roylott, a hulking great brute who was fast on his feet and with his fists, and too many of his pursuits ended with either a fucking ambulance or a body bag.

Greg Lestrade hated runners, hated them with a passion. He stepped out of the shadows, and the terrified runner and the PRS goon turned to stare at him in surprise.

"Boss?" the PRS guy asked confused, then smiled in understanding as he saw Greg pull out the gun. "Bit irregular Boss, but this one doesn't belong to anyone significant and we can always say he jumped in the river to get away" the goon laughed sadistically. "Serves the little bastard right for running, but let me have some fun with him first"

The young runner fell to his knees, trembling like a leaf, his face pale and his terrified eyes stared straight up into Lestrade's hard unwavering gaze.

"Please sir don't, please, please" the young boy begged through his sobs, tears slipping down his cheeks as if he was too afraid to move to brush them away. His words were echoed by Roylott's cruel laughter

Lestrade lifted the gun and aimed it, he only needed one shot. It would be a mercy killing. He was a damn good shot, practiced enough at the Police range, and had won some trophies for his skill.

The helpless runner curled up into a foetal ball, whimpering for his mother, Lestrade studied him impassively for a moment, almost wanting to give him some kind words but he shook off the ridiculous sentiment, raised the weapon and pulled the trigger. He was right it had only taken one shot. He studied his handiwork with objective satisfaction before he flung the gun in the river; it had been confiscated from a gang member three months before and became "lost" in the system before there had been time for it to be properly registered, catalogued and recorded. When they found the body it would look like he had been an unfortunate victim caught up in a turf war.

He turned his attention to the other participant of this little incident and for the first time in the last forty eight hours, he relaxed slightly, a proper smile warmed his face, and his intense brown eyes softened.

The young runner uncurled himself from the ground and stared at what was left of the dead face of the PRS man. He vomited violently and repeatedly.

Greg sighed, more forensics to sort out, but he could make it look like the runner had been taken in the turf war. The Authorities knew that Pets didn't last long with gangs, they wouldn't be expecting this one to be found alive, and it would give them a good excuse for a purge on the local gangs. Win-win scenario when it came to it.

He congratulated himself, he was correct; it had been a mercy killing. A mercy to any future poor little bugger who decided to run and now wouldn't have that evil bastard Roylott to deal with. He had no compunction about ridding the Earth of scum like that.

He spoke into the short wave radio "Ian, get your arse into gear, and get the van over here now, we haven't got long before they come looking for him, tell Emma the clothes need to fit a 16 or 17 year old, approx 5'7", weighing about 120-125lbs," He looked down at the shivering, disbelieving kid staring up at him and grinned kindly "What size trainers lad?"

"Size 6 Sir" the boy whispered, answering obediently despite the fact his teeth were chattering in his shock. Lestrade leant down and helped him to his feet as he relayed that to Dimmock and his wife. He held the kid close, rubbing his hands up and down the poor thin arms in an attempt to block the cold and the intense shivering and give him some human warmth and comfort.

"I don't understand Sir" the boy whispered, still terrified. Lestrade looked him straight in the eye. "You are safe now; you will be taken somewhere where no-one will ever be able to claim you as a Pet ever again. But for the next five days you will obey every instruction given to you for your own safety and after that you don't have to obey anyone ever again. It doesn't matter if you understand, in five days time you will be in a country where you will be free."

Greg Lestrade hated runners, hated them with a passion, because for the most part it meant he couldn't do anything to help them, but he fucking hated the PRS more, he hated the sadistic evil bastards they employed to hunt down defenceless vulnerable Pets who had found the courage and opportunity to flee from their nightmare lives, he fucking hated the fact that Pets were considered a normal part of life in his country, and he would do all he could to upset that particular applecart.

His grandfather, Remy Lestrade who had moved to this country from Belgium because he had fallen in love with a likeminded Englishwoman, had started the network of escape routes for any runner he was lucky enough to find and recruited reliable sympathetic people to the cause.  
Greg was still sometimes overwhelmed at his wily old Grandpere's courage and ingenuity because he had been under suspicion as a Belgian anyway, and had worked hard all his life to ostensibly prove to his new country that he could be trusted. Each generation of Lestrades had used the network, made it safer, or worked in unsuspected ways which inflicted damage on the whole obscene system, because the Lestrades had always been respectable, law abiding stalwart trusted members of the community.

He rarely had any direct contact with the network these days because his position as DI was making him too recognisable. He fed the organisation information when he could but things had become difficult with the new Chief Inspector insisting that he was the lead with the retrieval squads so he had taken a back seat.

And now Mycroft Holmes had come to him with his proposition. Too many runners were getting away. The retrieval rate had been dropping steadily for the last ten years (Lestrade had felt the surge of satisfaction at Mycrofts words but he had remained an impassive professional waiting for his orders)and Mycroft Holmes had been tasked with solving the problem, so he had watched Lestrade, had liked the way he worked, he was efficient, got results and now Mycroft Holmes wanted him to lead a task force specifically formed to shut the escape networks down.  
Hell's clanging bells and little bloody fishes!

It would be fucking funny if it wasn't so terrifying. He wasn't worried for himself but for all those good people that ran the networks; people like Ian and Emma Dimmock who he was proud to call his friends, if they were caught it would be prison or Pet training for them and their families.

Their Government did not look kindly on any interference in the Pet laws and treated such interference with a heavy and unforgiving hand.

Greg Lestrade knew that his long term future was not good, he was so screwed but he would help his people before Holmes got to them and then finally him.

Greg Lestrade hated runners; he hated them with a passion, because the poor bastards shouldn't be in that position in the first place. If they were brave enough to run then he had the moral duty to help them, and by God he would, fucking Mycroft Holmes be damned.

* * *

AN:

Apologies for the delay in posting. There have been some technical problems with the precious laptop and I also turned into a sickie, self pitying coughing machine. But all better now. Both of us!

Thank you so much to all you lovely people for reading and reviewing and the encouragement to continue. I have responded personally to the reviews where I could but obviously when they are guest I can't so can I just say I was overwhelmed by your kindness and wonderful responses. Thank you thank you thank you.

One of the guest reviews mentioned Gregory coming to the rescue and so chapter two was born, even though I wanted to get back to Molly and Sherlock. I must admit I have a soft spot for the DI and think he would make a great subversive hero, therefore he got a whole chapter to himself, but it does actually advance the taking on the mighty Mycroft Holmes.

The next chapter will be about Molly, unless one of you brilliant people come up with something that triggers my fancy and sends me off an different plot tangent. Please let me know what you think of this chapter.

Disclaimers: Not mine only enjoying using the characters, no infringement intended.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

"Mycroft Holmes, is that a cemetery" Mrs Hudson asked outraged. Mycroft looked at the screen and then back at the elderly woman staring at him indignantly, fire in her eyes.

He sighed gently and said "Technically no Mrs Hudson, it has been de-consecrated and is due for regeneration into affordable housing"

"Don't you try that on me young man, you know very well sacred ground is off limits, and there are still graves and headstones there. You tell your hunters to leave right this minute" she actually growled at him and to his own surprise, he flinched instinctively.

John dipped his head to hide his smile, trying not to laugh and Sherlock smirked openly at his brother as he patted her on her shoulder and said in an attempt at consoling her

"Mycroft will make sure that the subject is released without harm Mrs Hudson, with compensation for the inconvenience, won't you brother dear?" and Mycroft gave an irritated but satisfyingly fast nod of agreement.

John said with surprised laughter in his voice, "The hunters have got to catch him first before they can do that Sherlock"  
Sherlock glanced at the split screen with vague curiosity, he had been more interested in the feed of the inner city estate, it seemed to be a promising chase, and there was something attractive about the way the subject was free running in his desperation to get away from the pursuing pack, and then his curiosity sharpened as he studied the feed from the cemetery more closely.

The subject was at a headstone and had not noticed the encircling hunters. Was that an old Belstaff coat he was wearing? It looked rather big on the small lad's frame but yes, yes it was. At least the subject had good taste. Sherlock's gaze intensified on that part of the screen, he asked his brother impatiently for the monitor to focus solely on the cemetery.

Mycroft raised one eyebrow but gave in with good grace although he protested in a bored tone of voice  
"He will be taken in seconds Sherlock, he is oblivious to the hunter coming towards him, he is making no attempt to run but of course he will be released" with an eye roll towards the elderly woman, and he looked at John in exasperation, John gave a small shake of his head and shrugged his shoulders with a 'what the hell can I do about it' smile but Sherlock ignored the pair of them because he had noticed Mrs Hudson's surprising reaction to the events unfolding at the cemetery.  
She had moved slightly closer to the screen and he would have sworn there was an amused but almost professional predatory smile on her face.  
She murmured softly, "Not a he at all boys" and the three men turned to look at the screen in surprise.

The first hunter had been laid low by a crack across the head from the grey metal urn the figure had been filling with flowers at the grave, when he had come within range of the seemingly oblivious kneeling subject. His communication device and weapon had been swiftly picked up and hidden in the pockets of the flowing coat and the small figure had moved out of retaliation range, started to run, then oddly darted back and quickly and non too gently put the unconscious man into a basic version of the recovery position, finally taking a kick at his backside as the subject took off again.

John laughed out loud, "Sneaky little beggar" he admired. Sherlock smirked, his interest fully caught. Mycroft muttered "Enterprising but all the exits are covered and he will soon be apprehended".

Mrs Hudson snorted with amusement, "Really Boys, can't you see that's a little girl and I am not so sure that she will be apprehended soon"

Sherlock prepared to shoot her down, but he looked, really looked and realised that his landlady was correct.

They watched in silent fascination as Mrs Hudson's "little girl" took out a second hunter with the confiscated tazer and after hiding behind some large statutory, and listening to the radio traffic for a few minutes, used the communication device in a clever little ruse to get the remaining hunters to all head towards the Rodney street exit of the cemetery.  
She had turned it on and made it sound as if the device had picked her words up without her knowledge. There was a terrified sob in her voice as she whispered clearly that if she could get out at Rodney street she could get home in less than ten minutes.

Sherlock was sure the terror was genuine but she still had the presence of mind to try the misdirection. She was making quite an impression on him and he was no longer interested in other options.

She then switched the device off and flung it in a bin near some wooden seats, and took off like a racing greyhound towards the stone wall backing on to the river. By the time the hunters realised their mistake, she was nearly at the wall. The hunters moved fast to try to overtake her. She had begun to scramble to climb up the wall as she saw the remaining hunters close in on her.

She turned to look down at the river and hesitated, the fear on her pale face palpable. It was the first time that the surveillance cameras had clearly shown her features and Sherlock was fascinated.  
She was almost ordinary, almost but not quite, delicate cheekbones, her deep brown eyes sparkled with fevered intelligence and obvious fear, her lips were thin and her skin was naturally pale, made paler by her reaction to the situation.  
Her mousy brown hair wasn't short as it had looked at first glance but actually tied back in a plait which was mostly hidden by the collar of the Belstaff coat.

His observations were cut short when he saw one strong hand reached for her ankle. Unexpected rage raced through his blood stream, how dare that wretched thug put his hands on her? She was his.

She kicked out instinctively, overbalanced and fell without a sound into the river.

Sherlock drew in an alarmed breath "Bloody fools, they could have killed her"

Then before anyone could react "I want her" he hissed "She's the one I want, she is mine".

He was deaf to Mrs Hudson's scolding, he ignored her muttering about 'sacred ground', and 'what was the world coming to these days when traditional values were ignored' and she was 'seriously getting close to being ashamed of him', and Mycroft's full blown exasperation. He turned away from the pair of them pointedly to look at John

"You promised, whichever one I want from the Wild Hunt, the pair of you promised"

"Sherlock, sometimes you are such a child" John scolded the frustration in his voice obvious, "I thought we agreed on a male, and Mycroft has to release that one anyway because of the trespass on sacred ground."

Mrs Hudson nodded her head sharply but before she could say anything,

"I want her John, she had a Belstaff and she ran rings round those hunters" Sherlock was implacable and immovable. His chin was stuck out at the stubborn angle which normally preceded his more insane and death defying antics, and for a second John closed his eyes in despair. Why had he thought this was a good idea again?

"Well she will have to be caught before she gets back to her home then" Mycroft's capitulation was not unexpected but it was so sudden that it almost took John's breath away. Oh of course, once Sherlock was settled, he could get on with the business of the other hunts and making obscene amounts of money.

"Tell me where she lives, John and I will capture her" Sherlock smiled with excitement as if it was the best idea he had ever had. That was not how John saw it. It was on a par to chasing a man into a minefield and God knows they had done that before.

"Don't be daft Sherlock, if we are out on a wild hunt night, we could end up in Mycroft's holding vans ourselves and how do we know she will have survived the river" John snapped

"We will be dressed as Hunters John, and she will survive the river, it was her intention to get to it, so she must have the capability and a plan to survive it" Sherlock's conviction and wicked grin were infectious.

John could feel the stirrings of adrenaline as he reacted to the excitement in his lover's voice, and suddenly Sherlock's wicked grin was echoed by the one which crossed John's face.

Mrs Hudson was scandalised "Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, this is outrageous"

John turned to pacify her, "But Mrs H, she's no longer in the cemetery and she will probably even be home by the time we get out there, so it won't matter anyway but if we catch her outside it won't be on sacred ground."  
He said earnestly, then moved closer to her as he muttered in a pleading undertone "And look at him, he's so excited, I think this could be good for him. He's not bored and he's actually interested in her"

Mrs Hudson threw John a stern look but she did look at Sherlock and saw his rapt expression. Her heart melted a little. John was correct, this would be so good for Sherlock but of course he had to do things the hard way.

"Very well John, but it had better be by the rules from now on in, do you understand me, if she gets home before you catch her, that's it end of story."

John nodded his head meekly and suddenly Mrs Hudson smiled thoughtfully

"She is a clever little darling though isn't she, she would definitely give him a challenge, and it would be a nice change for you to have a female to look after"

Mycroft had supplied them with the information they needed on the girl within minutes of their decision to hunt her themselves. The surveillance cameras had picked up the name on the headstone she was kneeling beside, and it was a relatively easy matter to deduce who she was. Charles Hooper, deceased, had only one child, a girl. Molly Hooper, twenty, in her second year of university with a little part time job to help her financially.  
Molly Hooper who was now alone in the world and had no other family. Molly Hooper who had no money and no influential friends to object to her new status. Molly Hooper who was going to be the favoured pet of Sherlock Holmes.

John directed the driver of the official hunt vehicle to drop them off at the street where she lived.

Sherlock looked at him in surprise "Not much of a chase John", John just smiled enigmatically at him and flicked his eyes once at the driver. Sherlock took the hint and shut up.

Once they had been dropped off, John answered the unspoken question with one of his own,

"How much do you want her?"

"What?" Sherlock was confused by the question for a second. John knew how much he wanted her or he wouldn't be out playing by Mycroft's rules in Mycroft's games.

"Sherlock, I was a soldier, soldiers don't play at missions, soldiers do their job, any way they can get it done, so Mrs Hudson's and Mycroft's rules be damned. I will ask you again, how much do you want her?"

"She's mine John; she's the pet I want"

"Righto then, that's fine, it's all fine" and the predatory smile John gave Sherlock caused a shiver to run down his spine.

Impulsively he learnt forward, clamped his hand around John's neck and damn well snogged that smile off the mouth of the man who was his partner and best friend. God, John was so hot and utterly deliciously irresistible when he was showing his dangerous side.

It was stupidly easy getting into her flat. Sherlock wandered around determined to get more information on his new pet. Her life was laid out before him like a pathetic story of pitiful despair and unimportance. There was no one left to whom she mattered.

No one left to pay her any attention, take care of her, address her faults and praise her when she was good. No-one, all alone. He couldn't find any evidence of a boyfriend or girlfriend which was useful. No-one to create a fuss at her disappearance.

She had literally no- one in her life. No matter, soon she would be his; her life would have focus again, and someone she could care for.

He picked things up, and put them down, collected a few items including a soft toy cat from the pillow on her bed, her jewellery box with nothing of significant monetary value but pretty trinkets with a cat theme and a small silk pouch holding a wedding band and engagement ring which obviously had been her mothers, and finally a photo of her father which had been on the cheap bedside cabinet.

They would useful rewards when she learnt her lessons, he did intend to reward her when she was good. He found her diary and sat and read it before John alerted him to her arrival.

In the quiet of the room, when she closed and locked the door behind her, they heard her sobbing relief and exhaustion as she sank to the floor in the hallway. They waited patiently for her to gather her strength to enter the living room; they had decided it would not be kind to frighten her any more than necessary, and John had recommended the use of the sedative.

Finally as John switched the main light on and spoke to her gently to try to calm her down, as she swung round to stare at John in shock and began to move away from him, desperately searching for an escape route, until she backed straight into his arms for the first time, Sherlock smiled with intense satisfaction.  
She was wet, cold, dirty, and bedraggled, shivering with fear and anger and she fit perfectly in his arms. Oh yes, he had definitely made the right choice, he thought with anticipation.

He made sure that it was his voice she heard as dropped into unconsciousness. She would learn to recognise and respond properly to it, "You are mine now, my Pet"

The luminous smile he threw at John as he held his little pet in his arms for the first time had almost brought tears to John's eyes.

* * *

It was the cold that finally woke Molly, shivers racked her body bringing her up through the layers of consciousness and by the time her teeth started to chatter she was wide awake. She was cold and aching all over, what the hell was going on? She felt like she had a hangover as well, nauseous and such a headache.

It was completely dark. What time was it? God had the thermostat gone again on the central heating. She would put the kettle on and fill up her hot water bottle; maybe she should buy another hot water bottle. Not for the first time she asked herself why was she paying her rent to that neglectful crook of a landlord. She was going to find that bloody slime bag and beat him about the head with a…

Her eyes had been trying to focus in the complete darkness but her brain wouldn't accept the images they were transmitting. She wasn't in her bedroom, what the hell? She might not be able to see properly but she could damn well feel. Even when she was shivering so badly. She was lying on a tiled floor, no pillow or blankets, her feet were bare and icy cold, her legs were bare, where the bloody hell were her jeans, and her thin jumper had been removed too. She was just wearing her old thin tee-shirt and her knickers. No wonder she was freezing, had she been drunk, removed her clothes, and fallen asleep in the bathroom in a power cut? Her head was hurting but why couldn't she remember what had happened. God she was useless when she drank alcohol, which was normally why she didn't.

The room felt small but she wasn't sure if it was her brain being deceived by the complete darkness. There were no windows, so it couldn't be her bathroom and she couldn't see a damn thing,why couldn't she see anything?  
She could feel the panic rise through her body and she tried to get to her feet but fell over the chain that was attached to her ankles. Chain. what the hell ? Stunned for a second, she was on her hands and knees trying to work out what to do when suddenly the memories came flooding in, memories that froze her to the spot in terror; running from the black clad hunters in the cemetery, the river, getting back to her flat and that man, the one with the blonde hair and then most frightening of all the hard hands and the voice, that scary beautiful voice who called her his Pet.

She opened her mouth and screamed, "You bastards" it was high pitched, enraged and horrified, she began to tug at the chain in total rage but as it dawned on her that she was having no effect on the damn thing, suddenly fear flooded her system and she began to sob hysterically. She couldn't stop, she couldn't calm down, she was so scared, she didn't even realise she was shaking her head and chanting "Please no, no, no, please no, no, please, please no" under her breath.

Finally it felt like she had run out of tears, and her voice was too hoarse to even whisper let alone scream. She could feel herself gradually stop. She curled herself into a ball, hugging her knees to her chest, trying to stave off the cold, God she felt so cold, and tried to comfort herself, rubbing her hand up and down her legs and her arms, trying to warm up the chilled flesh.

She had to calm down, there had to be a way out of this, she just had to think. She wasn't stupid; she knew what all this was about. This was the start of her so called training, the process which would last until she was a turned into a well behaved affectionate moronic pet for her new owner, that complete and utter bastard with the voice of a fallen angel.

Her reactions had been typical of a terrified captive trainee pet, which must have been so satisfying for the evil gits. She had a damn good idea what was coming next, still with the cold and the dark, probably starvation unless she performed some meaningless but humiliatingly obedient possibly sexual task, then she would be praised and fed. The judicious use of the Stockholm syndrome to break her spirit and her mind and turn into loving adoration for her captors.

She knew all this, but knowing did not mean she wasn't shit scared, did not mean that she would be able to fight for long, did not mean that he wouldn't win. No, no that's what he wanted, that's what he needed to be able to break her, her feeling hopeless, defeated and in despair, which would just make her fucking surrender. Well he was in for a surprise. That might be what happened in the end but she would make him suffer first, she would find a way to hurt the bastard for this.

There were two essential traits which characterised Molly Hooper. Patience and hope. She had lived and breathed hope all her young life. It was an essential part of her DNA, and even when things were dire, she knew that if she had the patience to endure it, there was always something which came along to change things.

She would need more data to work with, and though she never wanted to see either of those evil twisted bastards again, she knew it was necessary for her try to find a way to fight back which would work, and get her out of this nightmare because right now she didn't even know if she could fight at all.

The cold and the darkness were doing their job so well. She was hungry and thirsty too, and Dear God where was she supposed to go to the toilet? Did they expect her to just do it on the floor? That was just so disgusting.  
She whimpered despairingly and hugged her knees more tightly. She didn't know how long she crouched there feeling vulnerable and defenseless. She had no way of measuring time in the dark, not unless she tried to count the beats of her own heart and that was probably the quickest way to madness. That was a thought, a potential escape route, what would they do to her if she went mad? Her mind was caught up in the racing jumble of desperate and outright insane plans for escape.

Slowly the darkness receded, soft light easing its way into the room, as a doorway was revealed. An entrance she hadn't been able see in the total blackness of her cell. She blinked wildly, even that soft light hurting after being in a room so dark she could reach out and touch it.

She scooted back towards the wall in shamed fear, so much for her earlier bravado, her legs drawn up in a futile gesture of defense, the chains clinking wildly and another whimper leaving her unwilling lips as she saw the tall silhouette outlined in the door frame. She couldn't see his face, but the intent menace radiating from his body made her beg without conscious thought

"Please " before she closed her mouth with a snap, her terrified eyes not able to leave the figure for a second.

He made her wait, her heart beat speeding up until she thought it was going to explode in her chest, her breath coming out in panting gasps she had no control over. She thought she was going to die from the fear as he stood there and studied her for what seemed hours but in reality must only have been about minutes at the most and then the door glided shut behind him, enclosing them both in the total darkness. She couldn't see him, she couldn't see anything, she was alone in the dark with the monster who had kidnapped her and she couldn't see him. The terrified pounding of her heart nearly drowned out the sound of his footsteps coming closer.

She cowered against the wall, head against her knees and closed her eyes, she knew it was stupid as she couldn't see anything anyway, but she couldn't help it. The footsteps stopped directly in front of her. She could barely restrain the whimpers in her throat, and then from above her head she once again heard that cold velvet beguiling voice which had struck terror into her heart.

"Welcome home little one, I think its time to we begin to get to know each other"

* * *

AN: Thanks for all the fabulous reviews and the favouriting and following. Chapter 2 was great fun to write and I am glad lots of you seemed to enjoy it. This is a dark fic so it won't be to everyone's taste especially as SJ & JW are decidedly anti heroic in this but please let me know what you think.  
All reviews and comments gratefully received and in fact some have already influenced the direction of the story... so you really do have power in this dynamic. Use it wisely young ones...

Disclaimers:

Not mine, only playing, no infringement intended.


	4. Chapter 4

"Welcome home little one, I think its time we begin to get to know each other"

The words reverberated through her body, leaving shudders in their wake, she felt sick, so sick and she couldn't open her eyes, she just couldn't look at the monster standing in front of her, the monster that had snatched her from her life without any conscience or qualm on a fucking whim.  
She focused on breathing, one in one out, but his presence sat on the edge of her mind cold and threatening and terrifying.

Without even realising it she was waiting for his next words, for his next action, for something for god's sake, she tried to listen to his breathing but she could barely hear it. Her nerves crawled under her skin with terror and anticipation.

He made her wait, her heart beat increased until she thought she was going to die from fear alone as he stood there and studied her for what seemed hours but in reality must only have been about ten minutes at the most and then she heard him move away and saw the light begin to leak into the darkness as he walked out and then she was plunged into the almost tangible blackness again as the door glided to a close behind him. What the fuck? He said…. what had he said again? "Time to get to know each other?" And then he just stood there not saying a bloody thing, bastard, using fucking mind games. She crouched there waiting for him to do something until her skin was crawling with the tension and still he kept quiet, the arsehole.

She knew they were mind games but as the silence swirled around her, she couldn't help it, she reacted to it, she suddenly drew in a deep gasping relieved breath. She couldn't control her poor body's reactions to the bastard's manipulation. Not yet, but she fucking would, oh yes she fucking would.

In the living room upstairs, Mrs Hudson was smiling with approval as she turned from the internal monitor showing the rooms of 221C and said to John, "I am so proud of him, he did so well resisting the urge to speak to her, just as I recommended, he really must stay strong and resist her whimpering. It will be better for her in the long run."  
She gave her professional opinion. Then continued with a touch of worry  
"That room isn't too cold for her is it John?"  
John laughed at her with gentle amusement " Mrs Hudson, after all the lectures about the way to start with Pet training and here you are turning into a doting old sweetheart, no of course its not too cold for her, I have been monitoring her signs and movements. It will keep her awake and cold, she will be uncomfortable but it won't cause anything dangerous or life threatening for her, and I will be keeping an eye on her anyway"

Sherlock piped up from the doorway, "Do I really have to do this every hour on the hour Mrs Hudson?" he asked plaintively with that trademark pout on his fine lips which had John surveying him with hooded eyed appreciation. He wondered how long it would be before he could get Sherlock alone, naked and pouting in his bed.

Mrs Hudson was oblivious to John's expression; she merely levelled a stern look at Sherlock before he gave in and laughed at her. She shook her head with amused exasperation at him. Such a naughty tease that boy, she loved him to bits.

Mrs Hudson smiled reminiscently "Variations of temperature, sleeplessness and the silent treatment, all exceedingly good ways to begin training"

John allowed his expression to broadcast his lust at Sherlock behind Mrs Hudson's back until the curly haired sex god began to flush with delight, and then in his cool calm professional Doctors voice, which was a complete contradiction to the look on his face, asked him  
"Has Mycroft sent over her medical history yet, I need to make sure she has all her jabs and is clean for you Love, don't want you catching anything nasty from the little one do we?" and he sent him a fond smile, enjoying the fact that Sherlock could not react to the messages John was sending his way because Mrs Hudson was still there.

Before Sherlock could answer, the sound system picked up the deep shuddering sobs from the Pets rooms. Sherlock swung round and stared at the monitor with concern. "Is she going to be doing that all the time?" he asked with some irritation. "Now Sherlock, stop fretting, it's a good sign and don't you dare go down there before you are supposed to, you'll spoil her."  
Mrs Hudson patted his hand gently as she moved towards the bathroom to collect their laundry and head back downstairs for a well deserved nap. It had been very exciting and nostalgic when the little one had arrived, brought back some lovely memories but it had been very tiring and she wasn't getting any younger. She was very pleased with the way John and Sherlock were listening to her advice and after some initial misgivings she was coming round to the idea of a wild pet.  
She would dig out some of her old equipment; she still had the first collar and leash she had used as a young girl. So many lovely memories they brought back.  
Sherlock would appreciate it and it wasn't as if she had anyone else to leave them to when she was gone.

John smiled with secret satisfaction, excellent, Sherlock was intrigued. He and Mrs Hudson just had to curb his natural obsessive tendencies when it came to something he was interested in or the poor little pet would get no peace whatsoever.  
He went to make a cup of tea, all in all it had proved to be a good couple of days and now he could concentrate on Sherlock and make sure he was happy with his gift.  
He would pop in and check on the little one when she dozed.

He had already made his view clear on drugging the pet as a faster way to train her, he wasn't going to have it, no temptations like that in this house thank you very much and Mrs Hudson had agreed wholeheartedly. The whole bloody point of this exercise was for Sherlock to have his own pet, a pet that was totally focused on him as her Master, who would adore him and worship him and allow him relief from his frustrations. A pet who could be told anything and who wouldn't judge him only love him. A pet that wouldn't be able to exist without him, thus ensuring that he paid attention to her needs as well as his own.  
Using drugs would taint the experience for him and that was not going to happen. John wanted Sherlock to enjoy every second of her training and then the rewards of a loving Pet. But it couldn't be easy for him or he would get bored and the project would be abandoned and then John would have to be responsible for her, or have her taken away and as he was too softhearted for the little one to be sent to a re-homing centre, because the private breeding centres would never take a wild pet into their care, so they were left to the tender mercies of the Government run facilities, and they barely had the funding to feed them, let alone find them a suitable new master or mistress. John just knew he would be the one left with her in his lap. Literally!

So John would not allow any short cuts in this process, Sherlock was in it for the long haul whether he knew it or not and whether he liked it or not.

As he waited for the kettle to boil, his thoughts swirled, and he mused sardonically that William Wilberforce would probably be spinning in his grave now if he could see how his little sop to public opinion, the creation of the Personal Pet scheme and the breeding centres had evolved over the centuries. Wilberforce had been desperate to get rid of the whole sale slavery that existed in the Island, he was a gang master's son and heir but his heart belonged to the new age of machines which would replace the intensive slave labour system. He had gained the backing of powerful men who saw the chance of profit and clever, clever lad that he was; he found a way to make the slavery system repugnant except for the use of Pets. He had dangled that carrot in front of the chattering masses and the populace had snapped their little jaws at it.

He had been so clever, John thought with amused cynicism, ordinary folk couldn't afford to have slaves, but the way he set up the Pet system then they had a chance, and it became a right instead of a privilege. So Wilberforce had got his way, abolished most of the old slavery laws, abolished the slavery system and turned those slaves left into cherished Pets, he had made a fortune with his machines and became lauded as the Father of the democratic pet process, which had gradually spread out across the rest of Europe replacing the slavery system and allowing fortunes to be made by the introduction of the marvellous mechanical age. The man had been a certifiable genuine fucking genius.

Anyone could be taken as a Pet on designated nights, and once they were, they spent an obligatory period at the breeding centres seeding the next generation of pets or bearing them and then returned to their Owners. Once they were taken they were no longer seen as free citizens, they were Pets. No pleading or begging for mercy was heeded, as everyone knew that if they assisted a runaway pet, then they would be selected instead.  
Families knew better than to try to buck the system, but money always talked!  
If they were well connected enough, sometimes they could make enough of a fuss that the process was quietly overturned as a "mistake" or if they had the funds but were not high enough on the social network to have those kind of connections they could normally "buy" the pet back, and then he or she would live quietly with relatives or be taken abroad where their status as Pet could be conveniently overlooked. That of course presumed that they wanted the "Pet" back. Some of the older established families saw it as a stain on the family name and would just conveniently forget about the one who had been caught in the process. They were wiped from the collective family consciousness as if they had never existed.

Sometimes families in need of funds would sell one of their own as a Pet. They were normally private transactions which for the last few years the courts had been trying to clamp down upon.  
The breeding centres hated that kind of private business transaction as they did not get their cut, and there had been too many times when the private transaction had resulted in the Pet being seriously maimed or even killed.

There had been two notorious cases in the last decade which had swung public opinion against the use of private transactions.  
A handsome and young cricket player had been sold as a Pet to ensure that a family business was not bought out and asset stripped by a multinational corporation making the local workforce redundant. He'd been popular, kind and handsome and had voluntarily agreed to the transaction because he had been loyal to the core and hated the thought of his home being destroyed and his friends parents losing their livelihoods.  
He had ended up beaten to death and dumped on the village green in full view of the factory entrance, the day after his Master the CEO of the Multinational had closed the factory anyway. The lad had been heard vehemently protesting about the closure before his body had been found. The Pets death had been ignored as a minor civil matter, a mere irrelevance by the law courts and the CEO had faced justice for those actions which had been deemed to be illegal, he been fined heavily for breaking the contract regarding the closure of the factory.  
But there had been flash mob protests organised by the lad's cricket playing friends, sparked by the death, and it had spread until they dared to protest at the Home of Cricket itself, The Oval, in front of the members of the establishment. It had been kept alive in the news much longer than the Government were comfortable with. Questions were asked in the House of Commons and the Prime Minister had begun to make soothing noises about ensuring the safeguarding of the poor little pets by legislating on private sales. She had set up a Royal Commission to look into the matter and quietly hoped the furore would fade into the background with the production of a well written fudged report from a very well paid academic.

The second case happened eighteen months later, after the recent election which had seen the Opposition come to into power. An older woman in her mid thirties, a successful lawyer plucked out of her life because she had been sold by her step mother on the death of her wealthy father in order to access her fortune. The feminist movement were outraged; the newspapers and the news channels had a field day scaremongering. If it could happen to a professional middle class wealthy woman, it could happen to anyone. Who was safe?  
This time the sale was overturned, only after a couple of months of legal wrangling and court cases by the ex lawyers employers and colleagues, who had begun to feel vulnerable, not something they were comfortable with. So she had pretty much begun her training but she was a strong-willed and stubborn woman and when she was released in an unheard of but theoretically legally possible manoeuvre, she was "emancipated" and the Government used it as a public relations coup, her happy ending story used to bolster the Pet laws amidst the self congratulations and political posturing whilst the greedy step mother had been imprisoned, as at forty five she was classed as too old for Pet Service, though in theory there was no upper limit to the Pet service programme, it was rare for anyone over the age of thirty to be taken.  
Most Citizens heaved a sigh of relief once they hit thirty so it was a bit shock to the system when the Lawyer had been taken. Of course she had become even wealthier with the sale of the rights to the film of her life, the ghost written autobiographies and the talk show appearances of the emancipated pet. "The one that got away" was now a minor celebrity with her own agony aunt talk show on one of the satellite channels.

Those two cases had changed the law to disallow private family sales without a licence issued through the Local Authority's registrar's office, which had to be applied for at least three working days in advance or there were severe financial penalties. The Government were pleased with the changes and had recommended them to Her Majesty the Queen for approval. Of course they had been passed and hailed as a progressive way forward for the future.  
Sometimes the courts would sentence the younger and prettier defendants to the Pet process, instead of Jail. There were legal age limits, at the breeding centres; children only became pets at the age of sixteen. Sometimes the Wild Hunt disregarded those rules especially if the little one looked old enough and they thought they could get away with it.

But once a Pet was in the system, no-one thought of them as a free human being again. The only exception to the rule had been the lawyer.

John wondered what has made him think of his old history lessons, as he wandered back into the living room and gave Sherlock his cup of tea. The monitor was on but Sherlock was engrossed in his laptop. John noticed that the little one had fallen silent, she must be tired out, poor little darling. There he was being all stern with Sherlock about the proper training when that's all he wanted to do was go and scoop her up and bring her up to 221b where she would feel safe again, tucked up in her little pet bed with a soft blanket, he thought with a fond smile.  
Thank goodness she wasn't his; he would make a complete idiot of himself and spoil the little thing. Damn it, he was such a soft-hearted fool sometimes, he though ruefully.

He took a deep and satisfying sip of his tea, and the nearly spat it right out again, as he heard the hoarse, cold voice of the little trainee pet speak through the monitoring device.  
Sherlock's head jerked back as if he had been slapped as he heard her words and his eyes widened with a myriad of emotions ranging through disbelief, outrage, insult, and then finally fascinated glee, as he swung away from the desk to look again at the monitor which only showed the infra red image from the dark room. She had relaxed back against the tile wall, her knees up to her chest, no doubt to keep her warm, but her head was no longer slumped down, her back was straight and her shoulders thrust back, so her voice was not muffled but perfectly clear.

"How utterly predictable" Icy distain dripped from that soft husky voice "Is this really the best you can do, isolation in darkness, no heat, lack of clothes, too cold to allow me to sleep properly in these uncomfortable surroundings, no doubt regular irregularly timed silent visits designed to frighten me. Did you follow it faithfully from chapter one in your dog-eared copy of 'Pet Training for Dummies'".  
They heard the rueful mocking laughter in her voice as she continued.  
"You morons, did you see the state of my flat, I live in isolation, I don't have a family, I don't have any close friends and I work the night shift in the morgue to pay for my studies. I can't afford to heat the flat properly so am always cold and more often than not I have to use candles because I can't afford the electricity. Oh and the irregular silent visits? I have a fucking lecherous peeping tom of a landlord who tries to catch me unaware for a quick grope."  
She drew a breath and continued, her anger overriding her fear and common sense, she needed to rage at someone and she just knew there would be monitoring equipment in this room. Even if they couldn't hear her, she would feel better saying it. She was on a roll now and she wasn't going to stop.

"What's next? Some putrid little sex act for one of you or calling you master so that I am rewarded with something to eat. Did I mention this is totally unoriginal and pedestrian you pathetic pair of perverts"

She snorted her disgust and then that dismissive sarcastic voice went silent. The shock of her words finally breaking through her rage, Instead her internal voice was screaming at her as if she had gone insane. She had gone insane, she must have. Why the fuck would she challenge them on something like this? As if she was urging them to put their thinking caps on and do worse things to her. If she had kept quiet, she could have predicted their next moves and maybe used them to her advantage, now, now for the love of God she had thrown down the gauntlet to that pair of psychopaths.  
God help her, what the hell had she just done?

* * *

AN:

A belated happy new year to you all. Sorry for the delay, lots of things going on including moving premises and been too shattered to do anything. Also to be honest Molly wouldn't speak to me until the last couple of days and Sherlock and John were freaking me out a bit. Damn this is getting dark.

Hope you enjoy. Thank you for your reviews and the requests for a bit more world building. Hope this works. Let me know what you think, I love it when you review

Disclaimers:

They belong to who they belong to, this is just playing ... no infringement intended.


	5. Chapter 5

There was a stunned silence in the living room in 221B Baker Street after the little pet's outburst. John wondered almost hysterically if they had managed to catch a pet that was totally insane and had no survival instinct at all. How the hell did you train a pet who was that stupidly brave or bravely stupid? That was going to be Sherlock's problem, and one he was going to relish. Well hell, the little one might have just managed to make Sherlock even more determined to prove himself.

John slowly turned his gaze from the monitor towards his silent lover who was still staring at the screen with that focused rapt attention he used for his more challenging of cases.

He could see the muscles of Sherlock's throat working and the way that delicious pink tongue peeped out and flickered against his top lip as he raised his hands in the familiar gesture which left them steepled together against his chin in his comfortable thinking pose.

The way Sherlock tilted his head towards John, the predatory gleam in his beautiful eyes, and the delighted smirk on his lips sent a shaft of desire straight through John's gut. God he was beautiful. And he was all Johns. Only John's!

"Isn't she just adorable John?" The delighted question posed in that deep velvet voice husky with fascination and desire and intensified the lustful gleam in John's eyes.  
He could feel himself harden in response.

"She is so perfect for me," then those brilliant gleaming eyes flickered softly towards John's lower regions "For us" he amended as somehow that deep voice became even huskier and the irresistible smirk on his lips shredded the last of John's self control.

He put down the cup carefully and refusing to let Sherlock's gaze drop, he stalked towards him, menacing possession in every movement, until he was close enough to lay a heavy hand on Sherlock's shoulder. He exerted pressure on the collarbone, resisting the urge to move his hand to the delectable pale throat and squeeze just enough for his mark to become visible. Time enough for that later. He had other plans at the moment.

"Kneel" it was the stern Army officer uttering that word and Sherlock instinctively obeyed the succinct command, still with that delighted smirk on his face that John was going to take such pleasure in replacing with the beautifully debauched abandoned expression Sherlock wore after John had made him focus on John's pleasure and before John permitted his desperate partner his own release.

"Thank me properly" John commanded implacably, and as Sherlock's fingers stroked at John's waist underneath the jumper and then with typical impatience reaching for his zip, John growled his voice as hard as his interested cock "No hands".  
Sherlock blinked, and then lust blown eyes stared straight up at John, and he exhaled, he was close enough for John to feel the warm breath against the top of his waistband where he had disturbed his clothing, then he leant closer as he mouthed the tented part of John's trousers. The feel of that hungry mouth pressing that fabric into his flesh, desperate to touch skin send a pleasurable shudder radiating out from the epicentre throughout this body. His unspoken challenge to himself and Sherlock was to stand completely still and silent whilst his body was bared by the machinations of that clever wicked mouth, whilst that mouth feasted on him.

That wicked clever mouth that could deride, devastate and destroy any one that stood in his way, but for John would devour and delight. Such a wicked clever mouth

The only sound in the room was John's tense breathing, and Sherlock's needy desperate groans of pleasure as he took his fill of John's flesh. It was the absorbed greedy expression on Sherlock's face which gave John the idea and the smile of sheer satiation and satisfaction which crossed John's face was not just because that wicked mouth had tilted his world and drained him dry. The quick catlike licks which were worshipfully cleaning him were accompanied by Sherlock's attempts to gain his own release when John lowered his head and whispered in his ear. "No", and all movement stopped as he raised his head and stared at John with eyes almost black with lust. His hand and his tongue remained in their respective positions.

John could see the intelligence begin to creep back into those delectable eyes and he smiled lovingly but with total conviction at him. "You don't get any release until she passes her first training test. You can decide who gets to give you that pleasure then, your pet or me." Sherlock's eyes flashed but John could see the faint irritation turn to excited interest as he continued " This will keep you focused on your responsibility as a Pet owner and trainer Darling, Now will you be able to resist unaided or do you want external help" and John mockingly held his thumb and forefinger together in a perfect circle. Sherlock flushed angrily and began to open his mouth. But John knelt beside him and his cold hand replaced Sherlock's on his warm aching flesh.

Sherlock moaned as that hand moved so slowly and tantalisingly "Damn you John" he groaned and whimpered when the grip tightened unbearably. "Of course I will still expect you to pleasure me as normal darling; I can still come whenever I want" and he smirked wickedly at him. "You are an evil bastard sometimes John" Sherlock groaned feeling those clever fingers take him to the edge "Please just let me this once, just now" he begged almost incoherently, the hand carried on stroking and flicking and teasing and tormenting and he couldn't help it, he was nearly there, he was shuddering with the need when that build up was brutally stopped and the hand squeezed at the base of his cock. The pitiful groan he uttered was beautiful and John grinned at him lovingly. "Are you up to the challenge Sherlock?" he deliberately taunted knowing a dig at his lover's ego would work. He knew this would ensure Sherlock didn't lose interest in the little one anytime soon.

"Help I need help" Sherlock confessed as he stumbled over the words, his head bent as he watched John's hand. "I won't be able to do this without help".

John gently tilted Sherlock's down bent head up towards him, smiled lovingly at the desperate expression and kissed him lingeringly.

Greg Lestrade stared in disbelief at his new office. What in the name of all that was holy was he going to do with this? Fucking Mycroft Holmes again! He was reeling Lestrade in like a fish on a line the cunning persistent bastard.  
First it was the meeting with the Chief who was as pleased as punch that one of his officers was going to be working with Holmes. Who had to gleefully point out that this would bring major kudos to the department and Lestrade didn't have to be a mind reader to know that what he meant was the kudos it would bring to the Chief himself.

It might even get the slimy arse-licking bastard into that stupid private men's club he had been trying to join for years. What was it called again? Yeah he remembered now. It was the Diogenes Club, the one Mycroft Holmes practically owned his cynical self sniggered.

Then the one that really stuck in his craw and made him want to run over Mycroft Holmes with his own sodding car, stop and reverse it back over him in order to make sure the bastard was as flat as a pancake, was walking into New Scotland Yard that morning, heading for his office after picking up a decent cup of coffee for his first cup of the day before he had to rely on the disgusting sludge that they produced in the department and finding that stupid git Gregson sitting in Lestrade's chair, in Lestrade's office now in charge of Lestrade's fucking team. And when Lestrade was about to toss him out through the unopened window of his third floor office for even daring to breath the same air as the team he had hand picked and put together and trained until they were the best in the bloody division, Donovan had pulled him aside urgently and told him that all his files and personal belongings (including the whiskey he kept for the really late sessions to help him sleep on the uncomfortable sodding couch at the back of his office, which was falling to bits but was still better some nights than returning to his dingy miserable lonely flat) had been boxed up and taken away by the most efficient looking and sinister ghosts she had ever seen in her life. Before he could even ask the question, his mobile phone rang with an unknown number.

"DI Lestrade" he offered curtly, that's all he needed now was to sort out this stupid mess, he was hoping it wasn't a case because this was sodding ridiculous and he needed to get hold of Holmes and ring his suave and sinister neck whilst getting his stuff back, and getting that lump Gregson out of his office, his chair and his hair.

"Lestrade, there is a car waiting downstairs for you to take you to your new office" the suave and sinister Mycroft Holmes himself was speaking to him

"Mr Holmes" Lestrade began angrily but was interrupted without compunction

"Excellent, we can chat over tea and discuss the requirements of your new position, I have already cleared it with your superiors. I look forward to meeting you again…Gregory" and the smooth, sinister and suave git had the bloody cheek to hang up on him without allowing him to say another word.

Lestrade stared at his phone in disbelief. What the actual fuck? Not only was the guy remodelling his fucking life but was he actually coming on to him? Shit a brick this situation just got worse by the second.

He collected his coat and case, resolutely ignoring the smirk on Gregson's face or he would send the creep arse first through that window anyway. Never could stand the little shit he was a thick but cunning bully who took the credit for his teams work. But most of his success was because of the eccentric brilliant younger Holmes brother, the self styled world's only consulting detective. Another rude and arrogant little shit; he and Gregson deserved each other. Thank the good lord he had never been saddled with the freak. Lestrade got the results he needed through his own blasted hard work. He'd probably be in jail for treason or attempted murder or locked up in a secure mental ward if he'd had to cope with that tosser Sherlock Holmes for even five minutes. Dimmock had the pleasure of his company on one case and he barely restrained himself from pulling his gun on him. It was only the presence of his partner the ex soldier that had calmed the situation down and Dimmock was the most unexcitable policeman he had ever met.

He brushed off a few of the quietly worded worried comments from his longer team members with a neutral expression and a brief "On secondment guys, nothing to worry about"

Dimmock caught up with him in the elevator to the ground floor. They knew better than to speak openly in the monitored space but Ian's concerned expression spoke volumes as he cheerfully asked Lestrade to come to the house to eat later in the week.

"Emma's making a roast dinner Guv, your favourite, with lemon meringue pie for afters"

"How can I resist Emma's cooking of course I will be there" Lestrade gave him the first genuine smile of the day and as Dimmock shook his hand goodbye, his grin grew even wider as he felt the tracking device Dimmock pressed into his palm.

He nearly laughed as Ian winked at him, his back safely turned to the monitor. Damn Dimmock was as paranoid as he was. He'd trained the lad well.

They had evaded detection for a long time, admittedly sometimes more through luck than judgement in the very early days but they had become a damn sight slicker and more professional over the years. Hence the little task Mycroft had given him.  
But his people were good, and there might be a chance, a very slim chance that they could actually all get out of this mess without any damage. He allowed himself a sliver of desperate hope but when he saw the sleek and dangerous black vehicle waiting for him, the back door opened by a suited and armed grunt who stared at him as if he was sizing him up for a coffin, his heart sank again. But he wouldn't give up, he didn't have the luxury of giving up, too many people, too many friends would be endangered.

So here he was in the same official and secret building as the mighty Mycroft Holmes, surrounded by the kind of computer hardware and software which would make the tech bods at MI6 cream their pants, and the menacing presence of Holmes personal fucking ninja army. Sweet merciful Christ, he wasn't going to last a bloody week before they knew everything unless he could get out of this building.

He obediently followed the very attractive blonde young woman who had smiled shyly at him and asked him to call her Fleur.

This was his office? The mahogany desk was bigger than his double bed at home, the leather sofa was huge. The captain's chair behind the desk was padded with the safe green leather that covered the sofa. There was an ensuite toilet and shower, a wardrobe and Fleur the petite Mycroft minion was now showing him all the amenities by pushing mysterious buttons on a tiny black remote which even meant the appearance of a 42 inch plasma flat screen TV hidden behind the dark wood panelling. He wondered half seriously if he could give up the lease on his flat and actually move into this office, it was much more luxurious and well appointed.

Lestrade wasn't sure if his jaw was still dragging on the floor but the smart young woman who was there with him and was now ostensibly his personal assistant (why the fuck did he need a personal assistant? He had never needed a personal assistant, what the hell did they even do?) smiled shyly at him again, took him through another door which led into a smaller office which was apparently hers, complete with coffee percolator and when he sniffed appreciatively at the beautiful aroma of freshly ground coffee, she took his overcoat, poured him a mug of the delicious drink, gave him a plate the prettiest most delicate biscuits he had ever seen and then proceeded to outline his meetings for the week, the expenses policy, told him he only had to let her know when he needed a car and it and the driver assigned to him would be ready immediately. She handed him a sleek brand new mobile phone with all his current contacts and some impressive new ones including Mycroft Holmes and the actual Mayor himself.

Her efficiency was incredible and terrifying and he knew damn well that if he relaxed around this clever sweet young woman, he might as well confess to Mycroft Holmes right now. Lestrade was not vain, but he knew he was a handsome man and hell he had to use all his advantages in this situation. He had seen the flicker of interest in her pretty eyes when she had met him for the first time, and the way she had blushed slightly before trying for a more professional demeanour. He was way too old for her she probably had some kind of Daddy kink.

As she was leading through the confusing corridors to his first meeting with Mycroft Holmes, she seriously asked him if he was allergic to any food or had any strong dislikes so that she could ensure his lunch was appropriate, he knew this was as good a time as any to begin. He came to a full stop in the corridor and asked her with a wickedly charming smile on his handsome face if she would marry him because his ex-wife hadn't taken care of him this well in the ten years they had been together.

Fleur had flushed a very pretty red colour, and stuttered through a flustered disjointed apology, and then flushed even more realising that she wasn't making much sense.

She quickly muttered that Mr Holmes's assistant would bring him back to the office after the meeting and his lunch would be ready and hurried off back to the office.

Lestrade felt a twinge of guilt, she was a nice kid but too many people depended on him, the risk was too great and a flexible conscience was non negotiable.  
If he ended up having to shag both Fleur and Mycroft Holmes to protect the networks then so be it.

He took a deep breath as Anthea; Holmes personal assistant opened his office door and announced him in a low sultry murmur.

"Do come in Gregory, I have been so looking forward to the day you joined me" Mycroft's voice sent a shuddering shiver down through his nerve ends. God help him, he wasn't sure if it was fear or something worse.

* * *

AN

Warnings for smutty and slutty behaviour but all done in the best possible taste.. not.

Sorry for the delay, real life got a bit too real and a little bumpy for a while. Anyway chapter 5 is up and even more out of my comfort zone but hopefully you enjoy it.

Next chapter will be focused on Molly after her outburst and how Sherlock is going to deal with it now he has an extra incentive.

Sorry if I haven't responded to you lovely people who have taken the time and effort to review yet but I will do and I hope you are inspired to continue sending me your thoughts.

Disclaimers as per previous chapters, no money being made etc etc


	6. Chapter 6

Molly had sunk into a sort of a dazed stupor after her outraged outburst; the fierce anger had long given way to a sick feeling at her own stupidity in challenging those monsters. She had sat there shivering for what seemed like hours waiting for their retribution but there had been no reaction, no further visit, nothing. The lack of response increased the fear incrementally the longer she waited and she just knew what was coming was going to be bad. Until finally her fear had given way to a physical exhaustion which had induced a welcome hazy fog of indifference. At the back of her mind she knew it was only temporary but she wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

She knew she couldn't stop what was going to happen to her so she might as well conserve her energy. If she was lucky and awake enough, there may be a chance to deflect their actions into something less damaging, frightening, and painful. She could think of loads more adjectives but she didn't want to. Those ones were scary enough. Shit, shit, shit, what had she done! Why hadn't she kept her big stupid mouth shut?

Maybe she needed to try something unexpected too. Not with the kind of disastrous repercussions her outburst was going to attract but something to throw them a little off balance. There had to be a chance to escape and maybe by playing the perfect pet she could do it. Well hell what was she thinking! They wouldn't believe it, not for a bloody second, even if she could force herself to submit without trying to rip their throats out with her teeth and nails, they still wouldn't believe it. Not after her actions and words up to now.  
She had already given those cunning, clever, evil bastards too much information about herself; they were going to know if her reaction was real or not.

God what was the matter with her, normally she considered the pros and cons of the smallest decision she had to make, for days, for actual days. But since the hasty escape flight from the cemetery she had been behaving like some brainless skimpily clad ninjarette in high heels with perfect hair and makeup, sporting an orange tan and botox enhanced lips, who kick-boxed first and asked questions later. Though Seriously the thought of being able to kick these perverts somewhere exceedingly painful filled her with bitter satisfaction.  
One good boot to the bollocks would do them both a world of good. Actually why just leave it at one? Maybe she should practice trying to kick with these blasted chains on, they were heavy enough that they could only enhance any damage she did and the thought made her smile venomously.

But her relentlessly logical thought processes broke through the delightful fantasies.

Maybe she could attempt a token resistance to lull them into believing her quick submission and then as soon as she was out of this bloody room she would be gone, hopefully with enough of their bloody teeth she could make a trophy necklace which she would proudly wear for the rest of her life, and every time someone underestimated her because of her phyiscal appearance and tried to intimidate her she would show them the necklace, and smile evilly.

Oh God she was losing her tiny mind!And they would be expecting an escape attempt too Molly Hooper after opening your stupid mouth and letting rip, she groaned to herself. They knew that she was angry and intelligent; they would be expecting something, some sort of attempt at escape. And the tall bastard with the "Voice" kept on telling her how perfect she was for him, that she wasn't boring, as if it was some sort of fucking compliment. Everyone else in the entire world believed Molly Hooper to be the most boring creature in Christendom, why the hell couldn't that pervert think that as well.

Of course he was expecting her to be a challenge. And like the moron she normally wasn't, she had only solidified his impression of her. Okay, okay, think Molly.

What if she still fought it, tooth and nail, what if she did exactly as they expected her to, what if she buried her real intentions deep, so deep that she wouldn't be aware of them, that they couldn't influence her and then her reactions to them would be genuine and not planned in advance. Once she had been broken enough, (oh God, Oh God even thinking about it made her feel sick,) they wouldn't be expecting her to be able to do anything but obey and then she could make her move.  
Which meant that she would have to try some form of rebellion knowing that she was going to fail and get punished for it, again and again until she could realistically start to submit so that they would believe the training was working? Oh God, the only time she had been this scared and helpless before was when she had been told that her Dad's illness was terminal and there was nothing she could do about the fact that he was going to leave her.

Seriously Molly, what kind of bloody stupid death wish idea was that? She hated her brain. Hell's clanging bells and little bloody fishes, she was so scared because she knew it would work, and fuck it was going to hurt. When she got out of this insane situation she was going to have nightmares for years.  
Bloody hell she was going to have to deliberately do something that would mean they were going to hurt her, and not just once, but multiple times until she didn't resist any more and then be strong enough to overcome her surrender and actually escape.

If she could run fast enough and far enough maybe she could find the escape network. She had to have some hope or she wouldn't survive this. Because if she was caught by anyone else then she would be brought back to this hell, and suffer the consequences.

Molly had heard the whispers about the escape networks; she had worked long enough in the morgue to have dealt with both runners and hunters. She was unobtrusive and quiet and most of the time people forgot she was there so she heard things that wouldn't have been repeated in front of anyone more visible or memorable. She was the little morgue mouse that no-one ever saw. She had heard the officers of the Pet Retrieval Squad complain about the number of runners that were getting past them, muttering under their breaths about the ghost organisation that seemed to know where they were to collect runners before the PRS officers arrived. Molly had listened and wondered and filed the information away in her clever brain, knowing that if she was ever given the chance to help that organisation she would.

She had seen the terrible fate of the pets that had ended up in her morgue, seen the beatings, the scars, seen the fear frozen on the faces when they had finally died, in pain and begging for mercy. Oh yes she would help them in a heart beat.

And that brought her racing thoughts full circle to her current predicament. Dear God she could end up being one of those pets on the autopsy table. Her stomach dropped and finally that strange haze of numbness left her and she began to cry, she just couldn't stop. Great gulping sobs rattled her throat and her chest and the tears were mingled with the snot she couldn't stop melting out of her nose, and dripping from her chin with the tears, and she felt disgusting and like total shite and she wanted to go home and hide under her bed, and she wanted to go home and find her Dad's old archery crossbow and use it on the evil twisted non humans above her head.

Why did the government let this happen, how could good people not think this was wrong and then she felt ashamed of herself because she was supposed to be good wasn't she and she hadn't tried to stop the hunts or the captures or the breeding centres. She hadn't even written a pathetic strongly worded protest letter to any of the national newspapers for God's sake. She had just accepted the status quo uncomfortably and vaguely wished someone else would do something about it. She had just thought it was someone else's problem until now, when she was on the wrong end of that problem. She hung her head in shame. Almost served her right for being so complacent and not caring enough for the other poor sods this had happened to already.

Her stomach growled, she was so hungry, when was the last time she had eaten?

She had skipped lunch the day she had gone to the cemetery, she was going to make herself an evening meal after she had taken the flowers to her Dad's grave, but that hadn't worked out well had it, and she didn't know how long she had been in this room. She was so hungry she felt sick, and even a little dizzy, but the thirst was worse, the more she thought about it the worse it got, her mouth was so dry she could barely make any saliva.

The small insidious voice inside her head told her that's all she had to do was ask, just ask them for water, it wasn't begging, not really, it wasn't begging which was what a trained pet did, she only had to ask because they didn't want her to die of thirst did they and if she asked… Fucking hell was it going to be so easy to break her? Just keep her thirsty? Her rational mind fought back, of course they didn't want her to die, she might feel like that was happening but they would fucking feed and water her before she snuffed it because it would defeat their fucking purpose if she died, no sweet little pet for them if she died. She just had to keep telling herself that, she just had to remember that.

Mousy little Molly could be as stubborn as a rock when she wanted to be and she so wanted to be now, but she was so thirsty and so hungry and maybe if she just asked nicely they would give her something so that she could keep her strength up and carry on fighting, how could she fight them if she was so weak, just ask them once, pretend to them she was weakening before she got so weak she would beg them anyway.  
Her brain was running through the same arguments and counter arguments like it was on a perpetual merry-go-round and the hunger and the thirst hurt so much. She didn't even know how long she had been left in the dark room, she couldn't remember how long ago she had shouted her defiant words at them, maybe they were going to leave her to die down here, maybe her words had made them so angry that they were happy to keep her locked in this pit of despair while they found another more suitable candidate for their precious pet, who they would feed and water and speak to and touch.

Defeated tears began to fall weakly from her eyes and instinctively her fingers rose to capture them and then went to her mouth where her tongue lapped at them desperately. It made no difference, thirst tormented her and she curled up into the smallest ball she could, and she was unaware of the quiet little whimpers racking her weakened body, as exhaustion finally took control of her overwrought mind and shut it down, allowing her body to slip into much needed sleep.

Dim light flickered against her closed eyelids instead of utter darkness. It disturbed her enough to break into her exhausted sleep. She rose through the levels of consciousness slowly, her mind still hazy, to the sound of soft words and fingers stroking through her hair with enough pressure to work out the tension in her neck by running from her neck up through the vulnerable dip in her nape and through the strands of her hair until they raised goose bumps in a repeated soothing motion that made her want to moan with delight. She concentrated on the fingers, they felt so good she didn't want them to stop and she relaxed her body, her legs began to stretch out from the foetal position she had been lying in, and her shoulders eased from the painful tensed hunch she hadn't even realised she had adopted. The fingers stopped when she began to move and she whimpered at their loss.

A deep low chuckle answered her whimper, "You see sweetheart, this isn't so bad is it, and nice things happen if you are a good little girl and you are a good little girl aren't you?"  
The soft cajoling tone accompanying these words was that of an adult to an infant or dear god no, a pet.  
"You want to be a good girl, you know you do, you are just scared at the moment, and that's ok, it's ok to be scared. You are going to be so good for him you know, he needs you"  
The words trickled their way through her brain until they forced her to come back to full horrifying consciousness.  
He was not addressing an adult with rights, and thought and feelings; he was talking to his bloody pet.  
She wanted to be sick. She was still shivering, hungry, thirsty and half naked in that dark cold room with chains around her ankles but now her head was in the lap of one of those perverts and she was being stroked and talked at like a pet.  
She drew in a deep breath as shame and fear hit her with equal force because she had actually been leaning into that touch, her body silently begging for more. Oh sweet merciful God she had been enjoying it.

The amused voice continued as did the relentless fingers in her hair. "You are so brave and clever sweetheart, you are so perfect for him but your physical condition will not allow you to resist for long, which is not good. He needs to be challenged until you are integral to his well being, so …" he stopped for a second as if he was considering how best to phrase his words, but those wonderful despicable fingers continued their soothing gentle motion  
"So I am going to have to do something about that. I can't allow you to submit too soon Sweetheart; he would be bored with you within 24 hours."

Strong arms lifted her from his lap until she was held against his chest like a baby, and she was staring into the face of the smiling blonde man from her flat. For a moment she let herself relish the warmth and comfort of the body against her, she had been so cold and so alone, and so scared in the dark even the anger couldn't wipe the fear away, now the physical proximity of that strong male body made her want to cling and bury herself against him, for a few seconds she couldn't stop herself from tucking her face into his neck until she felt his approving murmur and the comforting stroke of his hand against her back.  
She pulled away abruptly, ashamed of her weakness and lay back against his forearm until she could see him again. She wanted to punch that satisfied smirk of his handsome bloody face. She tried to speak, to demand he put her down, to demand that she was released, she would even beg to let her out but her throat was so dry, she could not make a coherent sound. She could only whimper.

She saw his eyes roam over her body until his gaze was drawn back to her face, and then she flinched as his other hand came towards her. He tutted at her with gentle mockery when he saw the movement and his free hand tucked her dirty hair behind her ears so that he could see her face clearly.

"Pretty little baby" he crooned at her and she shuddered involuntarily. His smile grew wider with satisfaction  
"You can't help yourself can you little one, you have to fight, I am so pleased with you, you were such an excellent choice for an extraordinary man, you are such a good girl"

He saw the rage and resistance in her face although she couldn't speak, and he frowned mildly at her

"Little one, you belong to a great man, an amazing genius who does great things, do you really think your sad little life compares to his? You will provide him with the relief and distraction he needs to continue his work and you should be proud of that. He will appreciate your contribution and he may even become affectionate with you.  
As for you there will be someone important in your life again, you won't be alone; you will adore him and have the satisfaction of knowing that your Master needs you. Of course Mrs H and I will spoil you as well; we won't be able to help ourselves"

The last words were rueful and self mocking but the whole little speech had been uttered with a belief that chilled the marrow of Molly's bones.

Her eyes widened at him, he was insane, and she was being held immobile by a smiling mad man, what the hell did she do now? She opened her lips to say something, anything but then one of his fingers entered and stroked the inside of her mouth as he made a considering noise. She gagged against it, and he shushed at her with a slight frown. Thought for a few seconds as his fingers began to stroke her pale throat.

Molly resented the touch even as a desperate part of her craved it after being isolated for so long.

Then he smiled again as he glanced down at her with a dangerous gleam in his eyes

"I am going to make sure that you have enough water and food to continue with your sweet little struggle baby girl." His smile grew when he saw the desperate hope she couldn't hide, until she blanked her expression but her eyes still betrayed her.

"But this is going to be own little secret Sweetheart because if you tell Sherlock, I will punish you" his smile didn't change as the fingers around her throat tightened inexorably, until she couldn't breath, and her hands were scrabbling at his fingers but to no avail. Her sight was fading, her desperate gasping breaths brought no relief to her aching empty lungs and her hands fell away from his fingers as her body began to surrender to the lack of oxygen before he relaxed his hold, although not removing his fingers and allowed her draw in deep painful gulps of air.

She stared into that smiling gentle face and sobbed with sheer terror. The fingers at her throat began soothing strokes, and he nuzzled against the top of her head "Shush now" he comforted calmly "It's so simple sweetheart, be a good girl and keep our secret and I won't have to punish you, of course if you do tell Sherlock, then he will punish you too, because you know you aren't supposed to accept anything from anyone else without your Master's approval"

She couldn't stop crying, she couldn't stop trembling, her whole body shivered against the sadistic mad man who was holding her still.

He pulled her closer to rest against his chest, her face buried against his jumper as he allowed her to sob uncontrollably without interruption.

Finally exhaustion put a physical stop to her crying and trembling and she lay there against him with all the strength of a new born kitten. She couldn't even raise the anger to try to lift her head, let alone leave the dubious comfort of his arms and warm body.

The man sighed slightly, and again when he spoke, there was wry amusement in his voice as he spoke without expecting an answer.

"There was another reason I came down here you know little one, before you so delightfully sidetracked me, you were just so sweet lying there that I had to pet you. You are going to be utterly spoilt little one, but you are just so cute when you whimper. You are going to be irresistible when you learn to beg properly Sweetheart, just too adorable" and his voice deepened with a dark hunger which made her stiffen in helpless fear against him. He ignored her movement and continued

"I have to give you your jabs, make sure you are up to date with all your inoculations because you missed a few appointments with your doctor didn't you naughty girl? We can't have your Master getting sick from you now can we Poppet? I'd be ever so cross if you made your Master ill" The warning in his gaze made her skin crawl and she wanted to vomit with horror.

"Once we have the nasty jabs out of the way, and if you are a really brave girl and don't make a fuss, I'll feed you and give you some water now. Otherwise you will have to wait until I come again and that might not be until tomorrow, so are you going to be a good little girl for me hmmm?"

Molly couldn't understand how this man could make this evil insanity sound normal but she was desperate for that food and water, so she nodded her head shakily.

"I can't hear you Molly" came the firm rejoinder.

She opened her mouth and tried to scrape the word out of her nearly useless voice box.

"Yes" she whispered hoarsely.

The blonde man smiled gently as he asked "Yes what Molly?" Menace danced through the air at the question and she was so afraid he would leave without giving her the food and water.

She coughed to try to ease the dryness and it felt like a thousand knives were tearing through her paper thin throat, but she valiantly tried again

"Yes Sir, I will be good" the hoarse cracked whisper brought a satisfied smile to the blonde man's face and then he lent down and dropped a soft kiss against her lips as he approved "See it's not that hard to obey nicely now is it?"

She wanted to see him dead and cold on one of her morgue tables.

He lifted her again and pulled her face down over his lap. This time her head and shoulders were on the cold tiled floor, her arms hastily shoved underneath her face to protect it from the cold as her bum was dead centre of his lap. He giggled as he asked her "Guess where the injections are going baby girl?" She could hear him opening something to the side of him and the sharp smell of antiseptic hit her nostrils. But then he didn't move. He seemed to be waiting for something. For long seconds she didn't understand and then she realised, he wanted her to pull her knickers down and bare her backside. No, no way was that going to happen, no way she wouldn't do it, she just wouldn't do it, he could go to hell, he could rot there for all she cared, she wasn't going to..

"I haven't got all day little one" The warning was quite clear.

She wanted to cry with shame and frustration but she wanted that food and water more. She pulled her arms from under her head and reached back awkwardly, the fingers of both hands finding the waistband of her underwear and clenched tightly.

She didn't want to do this, she didn't want to do this, but she wrenched them down to the top of the thighs using the same principle as ripping a plaster off, and besides which she wasn't giving this fucking perv a free show by taking it slow.

She could feel the cold air on her bare skin and it raised goose bumps on the flesh.

The shame of lying bare before this monster was eating into her soul, but her focus was distracted by the stinging slap to her bum, first one side and then the other and she yelped in shock.

"Need to get the blood rushing to your skin little one, will make the injections easier" the blonde man murmured in explanation as he rubbed at her skin with a wet wipe.

She lay there and gritted her teeth as she felt each needle enter and then the medication being pumped into her body, then the swift swipe of another smelly medicated wipe. The final injection he shot into her hip, and it hurt. It didn't feel like a normal needle, it actually felt the same way as when her ears had been pierced with that needle gun, it had the same force behind it and it felt hard and painful. But the mad perverted bastard didn't explain what each one was and she was too tired to care, her only concern now was to get that bloody food and water.

She lay there for a little while after the final wipe down and her hoarse voice asked with difficulty

"More?"

"Oh no Sweetheart, I was just admiring your arse, especially the way it turns such a pretty pink colour when it's slapped. I am sure we will be getting better acquainted in the not to distant future". His mocking laughter erupted when she frantically struggled to pull her underwear back up over her stinging sore backside.  
Bastard fucking perverted evil twisted devil spawned bastard she wanted to scream at him, but God she wanted that food and drink.

His laughter subsided and he pulled her upright again and sat her in his lap. She winced at the pain in her backside but he ignored her and pulled out what looked like a toddler's Sippy bottle from a cool bag which he had beside him that she noticed for the first time in this position.

He brought it up towards her mouth and suddenly she could smell the delicious aroma of tomato soup and her stomach groaned. She reached for the cup desperately but his other hand slapped at her hands as he growled  
"Bad girl, bad Molly" and then held her two hands together as he moved the cup back towards the cool bag.

"No, no please sir I'm sorry, I'll be good, please oh please don't take it away, I'm so sorry, sir I'm sorry" the hysterical whispered words stopped his movements and he turned to look at her desperate pleading face. Her eyes were wet and her lips were trembling in time with the shivers of her body.

Predatory dark blue eyes took it all in and satisfaction bloomed.

"I was right, I said you would be irresistible when you begged properly, I will be generous this once baby, you may have it but if you are naughty again…" he left the threat hang as he brought the bottle to her mouth and allowed her to suck. He watched her lips, tongue and cheeks work together to suck desperately at the red fluid, and the way her bruised throat swallowed the lukewarm thick liquid, and the way her eyes closed with pleasure. God he was getting hard just watching her.

He pulled the bottle away from her mouth before she emptied it and her eyes opened in panic. "Slow down Sweetheart, you will make yourself sick"

He insisted that she take one mouthful at a time, swallow and then take the next. He took the bottle away from her lips each time to enforce the rule. The fact that each single swallow shot a pleasurable jolt of lust straight through his hard cock was a side benefit. She would have made herself sick if he hadn't stopped her.

She had swallowed three quarters of the bottle before she actually refused the rest herself. Her tummy was so full it ached, she couldn't take any more, and she slumped against him.

The bottle was deposited in the cool bag, and her hands released. His voice was disapproving as he asked "Now little one, where are your manners?"

She raised her slumped head, she was so tired and her tummy was full, she just wanted to sleep, but she knew that if she pissed him off, he would punish her somehow. He was a fucking scary bastard and she needed to play nice.

It was easier to speak after drinking the soup, so her voice was stronger and louder

"Thank you" she was grateful for the food, even if he was one of the shits who had starved her in the first place.

"Is that the best you can do little one"

She was so fucking tired of this crap she thought with sudden rage, he wanted gratitude did he, well lets see if he liked this then. She knew he might disobey a few rules about food as that was for his perverted friend's benefit, not hers, he wanted her strong enough to resist so that the angel voiced devil could enjoy breaking her, but he wouldn't touch her sexually because in his perverted sense of honour that wouldn't be right until her Master offered to share. She could feel his erection against her, she knew how he had enjoyed feeding her and she was going to make the bastard so hard that he hurt, knowing he wouldn't be able to touch her.

She raised her head again, and stared at him, slowly lowering her eyelids as she wriggled forward on his lap, deliberately brushing against his stiff cock. She was focused on his lips and her ears caught the sound of his hitched breath before he tried to hide it. She began to rock herself so slowly and gently against his cock, refusing to acknowledge the sparks of pleasure which shot through her; this was revenge she wasn't going to get off on this.

Her tongue slid out and she licked at his lips, across the seam until he opened his mouth with a sighing breath. She stopped and peeped up at him as her tongue lay unmoving against his bottom lip. She rocked a little harder and faster but kept her tongue still.

Then asked in a sweet whisper "How can I thank you sir?"

Then she thrust her tongue inside to lap at his tongue and at the roof of his mouth. Before he could react she withdrew her tongue and sweetly asked again "How can I thank you sir?

She could feel his cock harden even more and a damp patch where she was rocking insistently. He was going to walk out of here with a limp she thought savagely disregarding the fact that her underwear was beginning to moisten as well.

Suddenly hard arms held her still, and in revenge she sank lower down against his covered cock so he could feel her, legs spread and open with only their clothes between them. She felt a savage satisfaction as he stilled and closed his eyes with desperation and then moved her with alacrity. It took him a moment for his voice to work, but she didn't smirk or smile, she kept that pathetic pleading expression on her face. "Yes well, that was better little one, now you may have your water"  
She could hear the dragging lust in his voice and knew her revenge had worked. Time to twist the knife a little

"How do you want me to thank you for the water sir?" she asked huskily, her eyes demurely looking down at the bottle of water in his hand so that he couldn't see the murderous expression in her eyes.

He was startled, and then he muttered gruffly "You have thanked me enough little one"

His fascinated flinching, as she swallowed the water, as she licked the drops she not so accidently left on her lips and at the sound of her moaning with relief as the water poured down her throat and eased her discomfort, filled her with the same previous vicious satisfaction.

But that satisfaction didn't last long, it drained out of her s soon as he had packed up and left, taking the little light with him, plunging her into darkness and cold and solitude once again. The fear and despair crept back in and even though she had a full belly, and wasn't so desperately thirsty she tried to drink her own tears, it was worse than it was before, because she could still feel the warmth of his body, feel his arms around her and hear his voice as if it was caressing her skin.

Sherlock was sitting in his chair in the living room with an evil smirk on his face as his lover walked stiffly into the room, after depositing the cool bag into the kitchen.

His eyes traveled the length of John's body and back up to his rueful laughing face.

"Well that went well love; you got the injections into her, and the microchip tracking tag for Mycroft's little experiment, got her to eat and drink a little and have given her a delicious little dilemma which will see her punished if she tells or if she doesn't when she is found out, something for her to ponder in the dark. Mind you she got her revenge at the end didn't she?" he laughed delightedly, his fascination with his little pet unabated.

"God Sherlock, thought I was going to come in my pants, I should have spanked her for it but couldn't take the chance" John's groan was heartfelt and Sherlock's smile grew a little wilder with a hint of retribution. His poor John was suffering but at least he could come, he wasn't prevented from his release like Sherlock with that damn cock cage and the challenge to his ego.

It was uncanny how John could read his mind sometimes as those indigo eyes studied him with barely concealed lust and then he pointed to the floor in front of him.

Sherlock sighed with mock resignation and put on his sexiest pout as he left his chair.

* * *

Okay, creepy sexy John and conniving Sherlock. Hope you enjoy. Let me know what you think xxx


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